


Your Majesty

by grimm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, M/M, Multiple Pov, The boys are dense sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimm/pseuds/grimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t like he was a pro or whatever, but like any teenage boy he’d spent a lot of time jerking off, and there were a lot of people on the internet that liked watching that sort of thing. And while the idea of doing actual porn - like, porn with another person’s dick in his ass porn - kind of made him uncomfortable, jerking off by himself in front of a camera sounded okay. If you’re good at something, never do it for free, right?</p><p>Based off a prompt asking for Stiles as a cam boy and Derek lusting after his hot virgin bod.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Majesty

**Author's Note:**

> Yayyyy. Happy Friday! This fic is based on a prompt from [Aikoss](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Aikoss/pseuds/Aikoss), who asked for a fic where Stiles is a cam whore and Derek wants his bod, and that's exactly what this fic is. Just like it says on the can.

Derek couldn’t remember how he’d found the website. Erica might have shown it to him; he had a vague recollection of her coming into his office after a long board meeting, saying, “You _need_ to relax, Derek! We’re going to start losing partners if you keep snapping everyone’s head off!” He’d glared at her, his trademark expression when he was pissed, or confused, or feeling anything, really. His face kind of just slid into it naturally.

Erica had just made an irritated, unimpressed noise and bent over Derek’s laptop. “Let me blow your mind,” she said, and she had, queuing up some of the hottest gay porn he’d ever seen. It said volumes about their friendship that Derek never had to tell Erica that he was into gay porn, that he didn’t ask how she knew where to find it, that he made no noise about her finding it for him, and that she didn’t make fun of him for it afterward.

It didn’t really help his mood that much – though jerking off did relax him a little, just around the edges – but he spent a lot of time in the late evenings, alone in his apartment, jumping around from site to site. Derek ended up on a cam sight one night, which – well, he didn’t really like cam sites, on principle. Anyone with a webcam could do it, and clicking on feeds was kind of like playing Russian roulette with genetics. He was about to leave, go back to regular porn, when one of the feeds at the top caught his eye. _Streaming now_ , it said, the little preview window paused on one frame. It was just the side of a man’s face, smooth jaw and neckline, the upturned corner of a mouth, but something about the movement captured in that one little picture called to Derek and he clicked on it without another thought.

His browser refreshed and brought him to a new page, video feed taking up half the screen, with a chat screen beside it, flashing with messages. _359 watching_ , it said at the bottom. A banner at the top said _Show starts at $500_ , and a counter below that was at $405. The video feed was empty, looking at a bed covered in dark sheets, and for a moment Derek was confused. He could hear someone talking somewhere off camera, indistinct, and then a lanky young man swung himself down in front of the screen. Derek stared.

He wasn’t wearing a shirt (or pants? Derek couldn’t tell.) but despite his leanness, he was fit, pale white skin stretched over smooth biceps and pectorals. Moles dotted his shoulders, a couple framing the corners of his mouth. Derek watched the boy smile as the money counter ticked up to $420, watched his long lashes brush against his cheeks when he blinked. The counter clicked up to $470 suddenly, and the boy grinned fully.

“Ooh,” he crooned, and Derek jumped at the sound of his voice. “Someone’s a big spender.” He leaned back in his chair and Derek could see he wasn’t wearing pants, just a pair of boxer briefs. The young man rubbed at his crotch, fingers squeezing his dick through the cotton. “Thirty bucks, guys. Let’s get this party started, huh?”

Derek swallowed. He could easily spare thirty dollars; he’d probably made a hundred times that in the time he’d been sitting there watching. Even as he thought that, though, the counter rolled up to $500 and the boy disappeared, replaced by a message that said _This user is now in a private session. Sign up now to receive alerts when your favorite cam star is online!_

Derek stared at the screen. It was strange how badly he wanted to see this kid. He filled out the registration form, leaning across the bed to grab his wallet off the nightstand so he could enter in his credit card information. _Thank you!_ the site remarked, and refreshed the feed. _Join private session?_ it asked now. _Viewing rate is $1/minute. Yes_ , Derek clicked, and the feed returned.

The young man was on the bed now, _lounging_ , completely naked, pulling lazily at his cock. Derek moved almost unconsciously, flipping onto his back and setting the laptop on the bed so he was free to palm at his own dick, timing his movements with the young man on screen. It jumped in his hands as the kid bent his knees, lifting his hips so that he could slip his free hand under him, toying with his entrance.

It was so weirdly intimate, in a way Derek hadn’t been in a long time, even though he wasn’t even in the same room as the kid on the screen. He came long before the boy did but lay still afterward, watching the boy’s long fingers stretch himself wide, pressing in two, then three, then four. He licked his lips at the way the boy bit into his own lip as he came, and groaned softly when the boy sat up and licked the cum off his hands, staring directly into the camera.

The boy sauntered over to the camera, a lazy smile on his face and said, “Thanks for watching. Night, everyone,” and the feed cut out. _User is not performing at this time,_ the site said. _Check back soon or click here to subscribe to this user’s feed and receive alerts when they are online._

Derek clicked here.

-

Derek was not obsessed. He told himself this very firmly, but that did not stop him from spending every evening the boy did a show in his room, fucking into his fist as he watched the boy get himself off in a variety of different ways – dildos and vibrators and cock rings and just his fingers and nothing at all. One day he wore a pair of red silk underwear the entire time he jacked himself off and Derek’s mouth went dry at how dark they were in the end, wet with sweat and cum. He was not obsessed. So what if he blew off dinner with Erica one night just so he could sit at home and watch the boy deep-throat a silicone dick. So what.

The boy called himself James, his user name king_james, but Derek didn’t think that was his real name. He would sit in front of the camera while he waited for enough money to reach his goal, and he would chat lightheartedly the whole time, complaining about exams or waxing poetic about the latest superhero movie. He’d answer questions people asked, always carefully skirting around answers that were too personal. Derek liked this part almost as much as the part that followed. Was it weird that he wanted to _know_ this kid? Probably, but he wasn’t the only one, if the messages that popped up in the little chat box to the side of the video were anything to go by.

 **dtf99:** holy shit ur adorable, can i take u home  
**lilmatty:** I’d pound your ass all night long if you’d let me, baby.  
**suck_u_off:** can I get youre #????

James laughed at all the comments but Derek tried not to read them, because they made him…jealous? He’d yet to enter in the conversation and he both did and didn’t want to; on the one hand, he had this weird desire to make James aware of his presence, to know he was there, watching. On the other, there was nothing that he could say that one of these desperate scumbags hadn’t already drunkenly misspelled.

One day, a couple of weeks after he’d first found the feed, James didn’t step away from the camera right away when he reached his goal amount and they entered into the private session. Instead he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Okay,” he said. “Game time. I’m going to set a timer for thirty seconds, and whoever tips me the highest gets their name called out when I come.” He grinned into the camera and pointed a finger toward the bottom of the screen. “Button’s right there. I’m starting the timer…now.”

Almost immediately, the chat box began pinging with messages. _suck_u_off tipped $5. popegregory tipped $10._ Derek watched the amount grow as the seconds ticked by, his throat tightening. This was weird, right? To want some stranger on the internet to say his name? He wanted it badly, wanted to hear his name wrung from those pink lips.

“Five seconds left,” James remarked.

Derek made up his mind and clicked the tip button, entering his amount just as James said, “Time’s up!”

The box dinged one last time. _le_loup tipped $500_. James’ eyes went wide, his cheeks flushing faintly. “Fuck,” he said quietly. “Are you shitting me?”

 **dtf99:** fucking showoff.

“Well, uh, thanks,” James said, giving a stuttering laugh. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “Tell me your name, then.”

Derek’s fingers paused over the keys. Was he doing this? Was he really doing this? He was doing this.

 **le_loup:** derek.

James stood, pushing his chair back. “Well, Derek,” he said, retreating to the bed, “thanks. I-I’ll try to make this a good one for you.” He was clearly thrown by the amount and Derek cursed himself quietly. He’d gone overboard; none of the other viewers had gone higher than $50. He could have done $100 and still won.

It was a good show, and if James was still unnerved, Derek couldn’t tell. He set himself up on his bed with his back up against a pile of pillows and spread his legs for the camera, fucking himself slowly and thoroughly on a glass dildo. Derek focused on James’ face to keep himself from coming too soon, but his slack mouth and long lashes fluttering against his cheeks were no less erotic than the movement of his hands. Derek had to keep taking his hands off his dick entirely, halting the orgasm before it could swell through his body. He only let it build when James’ hands began moving faster on his cock, feet pressing into the mattress. James came with the dildo still in his ass, his hips lifting off the bed with a jerk.

“Fuck!” James cried, stomach curving as cum splattered against his skin. “Derek!”

Derek gave a low moan, free hand squeezing his balls as he shot across his own stomach. He lay back on the bed, chest heaving, fingers tingling. One of the better orgasms he’d had in a while, he mused. Worth the $500. He watched James come back over to his desk.

“Thanks for the tip,” he said, smiling tiredly. “Now that I’m rich, I’ll have to buy some caviar. That’s what rich people eat, right?”

Derek smiled and leaned over to his laptop, wiping his hand on the sheets before typing.

 **le_loup:** skip the caviar and get some good scotch. no one really likes that salty shit.

James laughed, clear like a bell, and Derek could listen to that sound over and over. He wanted to record it and set it as his ringtone. “All right. Well, goodnight, everyone. Thanks for watching.”

If Derek jerked himself off again a little while later to the memory of James’ slack lips moaning his name, that was his business.

He was not obsessed. He wasn’t.

-

To his great frustration, Derek had to miss two week of shows due to a business trip to Asia and China's stupid finicky firewall. When he got home, finally, he did something he'd been hemming and hawing about the entire time he'd been in Shanghai, and joined the conversation before James' show started.

 **le_loup:** do you do one-on-one shows?

Derek stared at the screen, unable to really believe he'd just typed that out. He was addicted for sure. On the feed, James tilted his head, one side of his mouth quirking up.

"Oh," he said. "My mega-tipper. I was wondering where you'd gone. I took your advice, you know. Bought some scotch."

Derek's lips twitched.

 **le_loup:** and?

"Not my thing," James shrugged. "I guess I don't have refined enough tastes."

 **le_loup:** it's not for everyone.

"Right," James laughed. "But yeah, I do private shows. If you scroll to the bottom of the page, you can see my availability. Just choose a time."

After the regular show had ended, Derek followed James' directions, scrolling to the bottom of his profile page. There was a calendar down there, mostly grayed out, and Derek's stomach twisted. Did he really do that many shows? Or did this reflect his life in general? Derek knew there were nights he didn't perform. Maybe this calendar really showed what _little_ he did. The thought made Derek feel a little better. It was a stupid thought, but a growing part of him didn't want to share James with anyone.

Derek booked a private session for two nights later and forced himself to go to sleep.

-

Two nights later found him oddly nervous. He sat in front of his laptop, jiggling his knee anxiously. It was stupid to be feeling this way - he'd never felt this nervous before, not even before his first meeting with the board after his parents died. This was ridiculous; it wasn't like James could even see him.

Finally, a new window popped up on his screen, a message flashing _king_james wants to start a private session with you. Viewing rates are $5/minute. Accept?_

Derek accepted, his mouth going dry. The feed started, revealing James sitting at his desk, wearing a white v-neck t-shirt and thick-rimmed glasses. Derek mouthed wordlessly. It was like James knew he had a thing for guys in glasses.

"Hey," the kid said cheerfully, unaware of what he was doing to Derek. "Thanks for booking me. Anything in particular you wanted me to do tonight?"

Derek swallowed.

 **le_loup:** i don't know. i've never done this before.

"That's okay," James said, shrugging. "Did you want to turn on your webcam? Some guys like to, uh, show off, I guess."

 **le_loup:** that's ok. i don't have a webcam.

This was a lie. Derek did have one, but he didn't think he could handle that quite yet; he had a feeling he was going to come embarrassingly quick tonight.

"Okay," James replied agreeably. "Any requests? Weird stuff costs extra, but I'll do whatever pose you want. How do you want me to get off?"

Derek paused, mind whirling. Weird stuff? What did that mean? Keep it simple to start, he thought, advising himself – like he had any experience at all in this matter..

 **le_loup:** just your hand? no penetration.

"Easy enough," James said, tilting his head to one side. "You sure you don't want a show?"

 **le_loup:** i'm sure.

"All right." James grinned, pushing himself back from the desk. He didn't rise from the chair though, instead putting his feet up on the edge, spreading his legs so Derek could see he wasn't wearing underwear. James was half-hard already and he reached a hand down to stroke himself a few times before reaching up for his glasses. Derek hissed and hurried to type out a message.

 **le_loup:** leave them on. please.

James paused to read the message and grinned. "All right," he purred, taking his hand away from his face. He slid it down his chest instead, rucking up his shirt, sliding his hand across his skin with a soft sigh. “You like nerds, huh?” he asked the camera quietly, staring into the lens from under his eyelashes.

Derek wasn’t sure if he was supposed to respond; he was distracted by the feeling of his hand on his dick and the sight of James thrusting into his fist. He watched the way the muscles in the kid’s thighs and stomach flexed as he moved. Derek wanted to sink his teeth into that pale flesh and hear James moan under his touch. Derek liked the way his cheeks flushed as his head tilted back, lips parting in a quiet groan. Derek wanted to see him flushed all over, skin damp with sweat.

His eyes were half closed when James came in a rush, groaning out an “Oh, fuck, fuuuck!” Derek’s breath hitched and he came in a spurt of heat, wringing the orgasm from his body with tight fingers. He lay quiet for a moment, pleasure making him feel numb, weightless. James sat still in his chair, head still tilted back, eyes closed, breathing quietly. Derek could have watched him forever; he looked like a statue carved by Michelangelo, all smooth, white skin and gentle curves and sharp bone.

Fuck. He _was_ obsessed, wasn’t he?

-

Derek started booking a private show with James every week, on top of the two regular shows he already paid for. He didn’t ask much of the boy at these times, still somewhat unnerved by where his tastes had led him. He was content to watch James masturbate peacefully. Sometimes, though, after they’d both gotten off, James didn’t disconnect right away. He seemed to like to talk, and Derek had no problem with that. He wondered if James was as lonely as he was.

Derek was rich and powerful and surrounded by people, but there were not many that he called friends. He ran the world’s second largest electronics manufacturing company, with plants in thirty countries across the globe, hundreds of thousands of employees, and there he sat in his penthouse apartment in New York City, as lonely as he could be. He had Erica, yes, but even though she was his friend, she still worked for him, and he felt like that made things a little strained. He wanted real companionship. He hadn’t shared his space with someone for a long, long time.

Maybe it helped that James had no idea who he was. He could relax, knowing that James would never know his face, or his full name, and probably James didn’t care, because Derek was just another faceless internet user paying him to jerk off (which really didn’t sound like a bad job, all things considered). James was probably just a great actor, pretending to be interested in what they were talking about because he knew, at the end, he’d get paid for it, but Derek could pretend like he cared for just a little while every night, and it eased the loneliness if just for a few minutes.

One night, when the feed flickered on for their weekly private session, James smiled his usual bright smile, but Derek could see the weariness on his face.

“Hey,” James said, then shoved a hand over his mouth, fighting back a yawn. “Sorry.”

 **le_loup:** are you ok?

“Yeah,” James said, yawning again. “Sorry, sorry. I’ve got finals this week and I’ve been up studying every night.”

 **le_loup:** we don’t have to do this.

Derek was proud of himself; that was a pretty selfless thing to say. He was hard, yeah, but he didn’t need James to jack off. He just helped. A lot.

“No, we had an agreement,” James protested. “I’m not going to back out.”

 **le_loup:** it’s really ok. i'll still pay you.

“No, no—”

 **le_loup:** i'm serious. i insist.

James hesitated. “I’ll give you a free show later,” he said. “But if you really want to pay me tonight, I’ll have to keep the window open so the counter will run. Is that okay? I just need to work on a paper.”

le¬_loup: that’s fine. if you keep the window open, no one else with bother you, right?

Derek watched a tired smile spread across James’ face. “Right,” he said earnestly. “Thanks. I owe you, seriously.” He leaned forward and the angle of the video changed as he carried his computer over to his bed. Derek watch him bend away, over the side of the bed, and come back with a notebook.

 **le_loup:** what are you majoring in?

James glanced up, his eyes narrowing as he read the message. “I’m double-majoring in history and medieval studies,” he replied, opening his notebook. “Now hush, if you’re going to let me study.”

Derek sat back and pushed his laptop aside. He didn’t even really feel the need to jerk off anymore, content to watch James sprawl out over his bed, pulling a hand through his hair and muttering to himself about the Carolingians. After a while, Derek turned to his own work, pulling out his phone and answering some emails. He had a text from Erica, who reminded him that _you’ve got a flight to Qatar tomorrow at 10. DON’T BE LATE OR I WILL KICK DOWN THE DOOR. AGAIN._

Derek laughed quietly, his eyes returning to the computer screen. He didn’t mean to, but he fell asleep watching James work.

-

Derek was awoken sometime early the next morning by someone whispering nearby. His eyes shot open but his room was empty, and it took him a moment to realize that it was coming from his computer. He waved the mouse around, and when the screen saver disappeared, he found the video feed still running. James was slumped in front of the screen, arms crossed over his notebook. A pretty girl with auburn hair leaned over him, shaking his shoulder. Derek frowned, jealously twisting his stomach. His girlfriend?

“Stiles,” she murmured. “Stiles, wake up. You’re going to miss your exam.”

James – Stiles? – shot up, flailing arms almost smacking the girl in the face. “Jesus, Lydia!”

“You’re going to miss your exam,” the girl said again, pointedly.

The kid moaned. “Fuck. Did you—” He sat up straighter, leaning over the computer. “Fuck, it’s still running. Did you say my name?”

The girl pulled out of the frame. “Maybe? Did you have one of those weirdoes watching you sleep?”

“Ugh, I don’t know,” he replied. “Hey,” James added, and it sounded like it was aimed at Derek. “Are you still there?”

Derek didn’t reply. It’d probably be best if James thought he’d gone to bed or something.

“Dammit, I’m going to have to refund him,” James said, and the video feed cut out, the session abruptly ended.

-

When Derek got back four days later from negotiating with Qatari officials about opening a new factory in their country, he found he had a private message from James (or was his name Stiles? That didn’t sound like a real name either).

_Hey, I’m so sorry for falling asleep on you the other night! I was more tired than I thought, I guess. Anyway, I refunded you, since that’s not what you were paying for, unless you like watching people sleep. Which is okay, really – there are much weirder kinks out there. Thanks for letting me get some rest, though!_

Derek smiled faintly and wrote back:

_don't worry about it. i remember college. it wasn't always an easy time. take care of yourself…stiles._

Derek wasn’t sure why he threw that on there, throwing caution to the mind, but it got him a response less than ten minutes later.

_Fuck, you heard that?! Shit, please please please don’t tell anyone my name!_

Derek rolled his eyes.

_who would i tell? then i'd be admitting that i pay someone to jack off on camera for me._

_Fair point,_ came the reply two minutes later. _But you have to promise that if you ever get mad at me and want revenge or something, you won’t go spreading it around._

_i promise._

Derek didn't get a response, which he'd kind of been hoping for - a chance to keep a conversation going. He knew he was being stupid, letting himself get wrapped up in some dude he'd met on the internet, but Stiles was worse than a drug addiction. Expensive, too. Erica had noticed the large amount of money he was spending and commented on it, but what was he supposed to say? This was his secret.

-

A few weeks later, Derek sat down for their private session and he could immediately tell Stiles wasn't happy; he smiled but there was no joy in his expression. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes.

 **le_loup:** what's wrong?

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Am I that obvious?" he asked, making a face. "Sorry, that’s not very professional of me.”

 **le_loup:** i don’t care. do you want to talk about it?

Derek saw the way Stiles hesitated, the tightening of his lips as he considered. “I’m stressed,” he said finally, shrugging. He was wearing a sweatshirt, partially unzipped with no shirt on beneath it, and Derek struggled to keep his eyes on Stiles’ face, not the stretch of pale skin down his chest. “I kind of maxed out my loans and I’ve got to figure out a way to pay for this semester and it’s – it’s really expensive. And I’ve got rent and I need to eat, and, ughhhhh!” He pulled at his hair. “I don’t know what to fucking do! I’m in my last semester – I can’t transfer. And if I drop out, it would kill my dad. Maybe literally.”

 **le_loup:** can he help you?

“No,” Stiles sighed. “We don’t have any money. He’s – he’s a cop, and he got shot last year and he’s still only part-time, so he’s not making much.”

 **le_loup:** doing this isn’t enough?

“The site takes half of all the money I pull in,” Stiles told him unhappily. “I barely make enough for rent and my other loans.”

 **le_loup:** where do you live?

Stiles hesitated before saying, “NYC. Why?”

Derek’s heart leapt. Same city. Stiles was _here_ somewhere, somewhere within a five mile radius. There was a stupid plan forming in his head and he smashed it out and hit enter before he could even tell himself to just stop and _think_ for a minute.

 **le_loup:** i'll give you all the money you need if you come live with me.  
**le_loup:** uh  
**le_loup:** wait

Derek stared at the screen, horrified. Fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ How stupid was he? No one in their right minds would look at that and not think _serial killer!_ Shit.

Stiles was staring at the screen too, his mouth open. “Are you shitting me?” he mumbled, an echo of their first interaction. Derek swallowed. Erica was going to kill him.

 **le_loup:** no?  
**le_loup:** i know it sounds crazy. but if you need the money, i can help you.

Stiles laughed, but it wasn’t amused – it was confused and suspicious. “So what do I to in return? Let you fuck me?”

Derek swallowed again. That was exactly what he wanted, but it sounded awful when Stiles said it out loud.

Stiles laughed again, harsher. “Look, I don’t know you, dude. I don’t even know what you look like. And I’m not so desperate that I’d fuck some ancient dude with saggy old-man boobs, no offense if you are. I don’t do that shit.”

Derek bit his lip.

 **le_loup:** hold on. i'll try to find a pic.

Where? Derek wasn’t really the type to sit around and take selfies in the bathroom mirror. He didn’t really go out, didn’t have a Facebook to pull pictures of himself at parties if he did. All he could think to do was Google himself, because there had definitely been press events over the years, and he could remember cameras flashing. Some of those pictures _had_ to have ended up online. And he had to pause there, because he’d never Googled himself; he wasn’t vain enough to be interested in what people said about him on the internet. He was surprised by how _surly_ he looked in all of the pictures of himself. No wonder Erica kept telling him to lighten up.

Derek found one where he didn’t look like he was about to tear someone’s head off, maybe just maim them lightly, and sent the link to Stiles. He heard the ping of his message arriving on Stiles’ end and waited nervously, watching Stiles’ face. It didn’t change. “This isn’t you,” he said. “You just did a Google search for ‘handsome businessman,’ and found this.”

Derek flushed because even if Stiles didn’t think that was him, he’d called him handsome. He threw all caution to the wind, replying,

 **le_loup:** that IS me. my name’s derek hale.

He heard Stiles’ keyboard clacking, like maybe he was Googling Derek’s name. Stiles shook his head, still looking skeptical. “Nah,” he said. “No way. People this attractive don’t need…” He hesitated before gesturing at himself. “Shit like this.”

That stung. _You aren’t shit,_ Derek wanted to say, but he didn’t want to overwhelm Stiles with a sudden rush of _feelings._

 **le_loup:** how can i prove it to you?

Stiles looked at the camera, chewing on his bottom lip. “If I give you my phone number, will you promise not to send me dick pics? I had to change my number the last time and I can’t afford to do that right now.”

 **le_loup:** i promise.

“Okay,” Stiles sighed. “It’s 212-555-2981. Just send me a picture of you, okay? And – and do something so I know you didn’t just find it online. Hold up today’s paper or something.”

 **le_loup:** okay. give me a minute.

Derek unfolded himself from bed, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. This was a bad idea, he thought to himself, padding out of the room and heading down to the kitchen. He didn’t even know how old Stiles was, not to mention that paying someone for sex – that was illegal. Derek rubbed a hand over his face. He’d always been bad at listening to himself.

There was a whiteboard on the fridge and Derek wrote _I’m not lying, Stiles_ on it, and then the day’s date for good measure. He went into the bathroom and took a picture of himself holding the whiteboard, feeling very self-conscious. Once he was back in his room, he settled in front of the laptop and sent the picture to Stiles, waiting with baited breath for him to get it. He could hear Stiles’ phone buzz and the boy looked down, picking up his phone. Derek watched his face anxiously.

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Okay. I guess I have to believe it’s you. But I need to think about this. I’m not – I know I do all these shows, but I’ve never, uh, done it, you know. With someone. If that matters to you.”

Derek breathed in sharply at these words. Stiles was a virgin? Fuck. Fuck. Derek licked his lips, imagining fucking into that virgin hole. The thought made his dick jump in his underwear. Fuck, he _needed_ him. Be cool, Derek. Be cool.

 **le_loup:** that’s fine.

Stiles gave the camera a troubled look. “Is this something you do a lot?”

 **le_loup:** never.

“Okay,” Stiles repeated. “So, I, uh – I have a week until I have to have the semester paid for. I’ll text you before then, okay?”

 **le_loup:** that’s fine.

Stiles nodded, once, and the feed ended. Derek sat back amidst his pillows, forcing himself to breathe deeply. It occurred to him now that that had been beyond stupid. He didn’t even know Stiles’ last name, yet Stiles knew his – and he had his phone number – and a written request. Shit. And his dad was a cop. Derek had just solicited a cop’s son for sex and Stiles had all the information he needed to have Derek arrested if he wanted to. Damn.

But no cops came banging on the door that night, or the next day, and Derek slowly relaxed. He tried not to think about Stiles at all. If the boy performed again that week, Derek didn’t watch. He couldn’t watch Stiles debase himself in front of all those viewers, not knowing that he could be _his_. He resisted, too, the urge to text Stiles. It wasn’t like they were friends; he couldn’t just start idle chit-chat with him.

Derek wished that Stiles hadn’t told him he was a virgin, because knowing that was very disturbing to his peace of mind. He had to fly to London a couple days later and spent all of his meetings dreaming about fucking Stiles until he screamed and begged for release. He earned himself many dirty looks from Erica but he wouldn’t let her bother him.

Five days after their conversation, Derek received a text from Stiles. He was sitting in his office eating lunch when his phone buzzed and when he saw the message on the screen, he went very still.

_Okay. I accept your offer._

Derek scrambled for his phone, almost dropping it twice in his haste to reply.

 _glad to hear it_ , he wrote, after erasing _excellent_ , because that sounded way too enthusiastic. _i’ll be in contact soon._

Then Derek was onto his feet, shouting for Erica.

-

Stiles Stilinski was not an idiot. He’d been salutatorian in high school, he’d been accepted to not one but _four_ Ivy League schools, and even with a double-major, he’d managed to stay on the Dean’s List for all four years of college. Unfortunately, just because he was smart did not mean he was always logical, and it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize that finding a career in history might be harder than he thought. He’d worked at a restaurant for some time, waiting tables, making drinks, but the tips were poor and the people were rude, and he’d gotten so little sleep that between classes, work, and studying, he slept maybe four hours every night, and he knew that wasn’t healthy. So Stiles investigated other methods of making money.

He liked porn – what self-respecting young man didn’t? He spent a lot of his time (between studying, classes, and working, of course) surfing porn sites, because masturbating allowed him to relax enough to forget how tired he was, how stressful everything was.It wasn’t like he was a pro or whatever, but like any teenage boy he’d spent a lot of time jerking off, and there were a lot of people on the internet that liked watching that sort of thing. And while the idea of doing actual porn - like, porn with another person’s dick in his ass porn - kind of made him uncomfortable, jerking off by himself in front of a camera sounded okay. If you’re good at something, never do it for free, right?

So Stiles bought himself a camera and went to town. He was surprised – and a little flattered – to find his show quickly becoming one of the most popular on the website. People liked him – or, at least, they liked his body, which was fine. Stiles had gone through an awkward period in high school when he was all flailing limbs and buzzed haircut and no grace whatsoever, but he’d grown out of that, his body growing into itself. He grew his hair long enough to run his fingers through and worked out enough that his body was toned but not really muscular.

Life was easier when he only had to work two nights a week. He’d done a little experimenting at first, doing more shows a week, and had figured at out that he needed to be somewhat exclusive – if he did shows too often, people paid less money and didn’t tip as well, so he settled on two nights a week, which gave him plenty of time to do his schoolwork. He did private shows for people, but not very often – it was strange how he felt all right putting on a show for a crowd, but doing it for one person made him uneasy, like it was toeing the line too closely to prostitution. Lydia told him he was being stupid about it, but he couldn’t help the way he thought. He hated when people turned on their own webcams and jerked off for him – they always tried to show off, flexing and grunting, and it really disgusted him.

Enter Derek.

Stiles was observant. He noticed the usernames that appeared consistently, and _le_loup_ was one of those. Stiles became very aware of him that night that he’d tipped five hundred dollars – five _hundred_ dollars; usually he was lucky to get _five_ – and he’d kept his eye on the feed after that, because the kind of person that had five hundred dollars to spare on a cam whore was the kind he wanted to stick around. le_loup disappeared for a few weeks after that show but in the meantime Stiles checked his payments and discovered that the man had been paying for his shows for nearly four months. Damn.

le_loup reappeared suddenly one night, abruptly joining in the pre-show chatter to ask _do you do one-on-one shows?_ and it had taken Stiles by surprise, which he’d covered with a joke about scotch (he hadn’t really bought any, like hell was he wasting money on that boot water, but he’d had it before). He knew that if this Derek guy would spent five hundred dollars so Stiles would moan his name when he came, he’d probably pay good money for a private show. Stiles was right; at five dollars a minute, the minutes added up fast, and Derek never complained or cut the session short, like other people Stiles had sessioned with before. He seemed happy to let Stiles draw the session out, using his power-chatting skills to keep the counter ticking. Derek always tipped at the end too, smaller amounts than the first time but still significant - $100, $200, $75. Stiles probably should have felt bad, but it wasn’t like he was asking for it – not explicitly. This was his job, anyway – it was what he was good at.

Everything had been going _fine_ ; he had enough money to pay his bills and a little more, sometimes, when he went in to school two weeks before final term started and Ms. Morrell looked at him and said, “Your loans didn’t go through.”

Stiles stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” the counselor said patiently, sympathy on her face, “you were turned down, Stiles. You’ve got too many federal loans out already.”

“What can I do?” he asked her, heart fluttering in his chest.

“Talk to your father,” she advised. “You may be able to get private loans–”

“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “We maxed out those too. Dad’s credit rating isn’t very good, and the banks won’t give us any more money.” He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to fight back a panic attack. “What are my options?”

“There’s a week until school starts,” Ms. Morrell told him, her face soft. “You have to be paid in full by the first day of classes, or you won’t be allowed to come back. I’m not sure what to tell you, Stiles. There are scholarships – I’ll see what I can find for you, but…”

“But it’s a lot of money,” Stiles finished for her, smiling unhappily. Shit. He was so fucking close. He knew there was no way he’d be able to find twenty-five thousand dollars in a week, not even if he did a show every night.

He found himself telling Derek about it later that night. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t even been able to tell Lydia when he came home, his heart aching at the thought of leaving school when he was only a semester from finishing. Lydia couldn’t understand; her parents weren’t super rich, but she’d never had to worry about money before. It wasn’t like Stiles had ever really wanted for anything either, but he knew that was because his father worked his ass off, and now that he was part-time, this wasn’t something that he could help Stiles with. And then that message flashed on his screen.

 **le_loup:** i'll give you all the money you need if you come live with me.

Stiles stared at it, read it over and over. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about something like this – there had been offers from men before. He shoved fake dicks up his ass every week – what difference did it make if it was silicone or real flesh and blood? Invariably, whenever he had these discussions in his head, the rational part of his brain would point out that that was _prostitution, you idiot_. Still, Stiles felt like if he was careful, it couldn’t be that bad. It wasn’t like he would hang out on street corners and just pick up random johns – he’d be high class, like one of those escorts senators were always getting in trouble for buying.

And now Derek was offering to pay for school and Stiles was seriously considering it. Derek didn’t seem like a bad person – his messages weren’t crude like some of his other viewers, and he was attuned enough to Stiles that he’d asked what was wrong. No one had ever been concerned about him before. And – and he wasn’t bad looking. Far from it. Stiles wouldn’t have even considered it if Derek had turned out to be some wrinkly old businessman, but he didn’t even look like he was thirty yet. It made Stiles a little suspicious – why couldn’t someone as good-looking – and loaded – as Derek find someone to fuck? Surely there were hundreds of beautiful men and women lining up to be with him? Maybe he had a micropenis or something.

Stiles told Derek he’d text him with an answer before next week and ended the feed, then wandered out to the living room, where Lydia was watching _A Wedding Story_. Stiles slumped down next to her and said, “Shouldn’t you be watching this when Jackson’s here?”

Lydia gave him a frosty look. “Why would I do that?”

Stiles nodded toward the screen. “So he’d take the hint.”

Lydia tossed her red waves over her shoulder and said, “I’m not getting married until I get a Fields Medal. Jackson knows that.”

“You think he’s going to be that patient?”

Lydia looked at him sharply. “What do you want? You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

Stiles hesitated before replying, but Lydia was his best friend. She’d been his lab partner in chemistry freshman year and he’d had a crush on her for a long time before his attention started to wander toward dicks instead. He’d told her everything – how miserable he’d been after his mother died, how hurt he’d been when Scott had temporarily dropped him for Allison. She knew all about his shows, even bought him toys he was too shy to purchase (though not without the explicit caveat of “I never want to see these again”).

“Let’s say you need a ton of money and someone offers it to you on the condition that you fuck them. What would you do?”

Lydia pursed her lips. “Depends, I guess. How much money are we talking, and who is it?” She narrowed her eyes. “Is it one of your creepy clients?”

“This was _supposed_ to be hypothetical, but yes,” Stiles sighed. “And it’s twenty-five thousand dollars.”

Lydia frowned at him. “What do you need that much money for?”

“School,” Stiles muttered. “I can’t take out any more loans.”

“Uh huh,” Lydia said. “And who is this guy?”

“That guy – I told you, he’s the one who’s been booking me for private shows.”

“Oh. The one who knows your name.”

“Yeah, but I know his now. And look.” Stiles pulled out his phone and showed her the picture of Derek.

Lydia’s brow furrowed. “He’s handsome.”

“I know, right? Suspicious,” Stiles replied.

“He must be rich if he’s going to give you twenty-five thousand,” Lydia mused, leaning forward and picking her laptop off the table. “What’s his name?”

“Derek Hale,” Stiles replied, leaning against her and watching her search for Derek’s name. “Oh whoa, he’s got his own Wikipedia page?”

“Hm,” Lydia agreed, and clicked on it. They were both silent for a long moment, reading down the page. Stiles got stuck on one sentence.

“‘Estimated to have a personal net worth of over five hundred _million_ dollars?’ Holy shit, Lydia!”

“If you accept this, you have to get more than twenty-five thousand out of him,” Lydia said primly.

“I’m not pushing my luck,” Stiles replied firmly. “What do you think I should do?”

Lydia shrugged. “It’s your body. You have to decide.”

“Yeah, but what would you do?” Stiles pressed.

Lydia looked up at the ceiling, considering. “I’d do it,” she said. “You need the money, don’t you? I mean, the worst that can happen is you go and see this guy and he’s a total creep and you leave.”

“And then I have to drop out of school,” Stiles said miserably. “It’s a catch-22, isn’t it?”

Lydia gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah.”

Stiles sighed.

-

Stiles spent the next five days thinking about Derek’s offer. He went from entirely sure he wasn’t going to accept to entirely sure he was, over and over, making up his mind and changing it from hour to hour. Lydia got sick of him pacing up and down the apartment and sent him out, so he wandered around Central Park for hours, thinking, thinking. He went to visit his dad at the precinct, but he couldn’t exactly explain what the problem was. Instead he asked, “Hey, when something serious happens, how do you know what the right decision is?”

His dad, who had been staring disconsolately at the veggie burger and quinoa salad Stiles had brought him, looked up sharply. “What’s serious? Are you in trouble?”

“No, Dad,” Stiles said, trying to shrug casually. “I’m just wondering.”

“Well,” his father replied, pouring a packet of sugar-free ketchup over his burger like he might be able to hide the flavor, “sometimes there isn’t a right answer and you have to do what’s best for you.”

“How do you know what that is?”

His father frowned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” Stiles waved his hand. “Go on.”

The cop shrugged. “Instinct, I guess. Whatever’s going to help you come out alive.”

“Oh.”

On his way back to the apartment after getting off the subway, Stiles texted Derek.

_Okay. I accept your offer._

The response came back almost immediately: _glad to hear it. i'll be back in contact soon._

Stiles sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket.

-

When his phone rang an hour later, Stiles was in the middle of a bowl of microwave mac and cheese and he didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?” he answered, swallowing a large mouthful of pasta.

“Is this Stiles?” a crisp female voice asked.

“Yes?” Stiles replied cautiously.

“Hi, Stiles,” said the woman. “My name is Erica Reyes, and I’m Mr. Hale’s assistant. I believe the two of you have been discussing a work opportunity?”

“Uh,” said Stiles. “You could say that.”

She laughed. “Yes. What does your schedule look like this afternoon? According to Mr. Hale, the matter of your payment needs to be resolved quickly, correct? If you can come over today, we can get your contract signed and the money into your account.”

“Contract?”

“Yes,” Erica confirmed. “You will be treated like a standard employee while working for Mr. Hale, and we require a non-disclosure agreement – not that you will be talking about your work to anyone, I’m sure – but this agreement will protect both of you.”

“Uh, okay,” Stiles said. “Yeah. I mean, I’m free any time. Where am I going?”

Erica gave him an address on the Upper West Side and said, “If you can meet me around three, that would be perfect. Just tell the doorman you’re there to see me.”

“All right,” Stiles said. “I’ll head out soon.”

“Thank you!” Erica said cheerfully. “See you soon.”

Stiles hung up and immediately texted Lydia, who was over at Jackson’s apartment.

_Heading out to sign my contract?!?! If you don’t hear from me again, this dude is a serial killer and I’ve been chopped into pieces._

He got up and cast about uselessly. Was he supposed to bring anything? He didn’t know if this place was where Derek worked or where he lived. Maybe he worked from home? Stiles decided not to bring anything – he’d have a chance to come home, right? Derek wasn’t going to lock him up in his house…he hoped.

As he headed out for the subway, Lydia texted him back.

_If you get killed, Jackson says he wants your DVD collection. xx_

_Sorry,_ Stiles replied. _I’ve already willed it to Scott._

-

Stiles found himself in front of an impressive-looking apartment building and he lingered outside, nervous, until the doorman started giving him suspicious looks and he worked up the courage to approach.

“Uh, hi,” he said. “I’m here to see Erica Reyes?”

The doorman squinted at him and pulled a pad of paper out of his pocket. “Name, sir?”

“Stiles,” he told the man.

The man squinted down at the paper, then nodded. He pulled a flat piece of plastic out of his pocket and handed it to Stiles. “Pass for the elevator. You’re headed for the thirtieth floor, sir. Enjoy yourself.” He pulled the front door open for Stiles, who nodded his thanks and slipped past.

The entrance was clean and lavish, dark wood and smooth concrete, lit with lights that looked like they came from IKEA but probably cost several thousand dollars apiece. He stepped over to the elevator and the doors were brushed aluminum, reflecting no light. When they opened, the walls were the same dark wood as the entrance, and Stiles had to wave the pass over a sleek scanner before selecting the thirtieth floor.

The elevator rose with barely a noise or hint of movement, though when it stopped Stiles felt like he was still rising up. He stepped out into a quiet hallway, more wood and concrete, but there was only one door, and a low table with a vase of white flowers on it.

“Huh,” Stiles said quietly, and stepped up to the door. He raised his hand, then lowered it while behind him the elevator doors slid shut with a barely audible hiss. He felt trapped suddenly. This felt like a bad idea. He almost turned, ready to call the elevator back, when the door jerked open in front of him. Stiles stared.

There was a pretty girl standing there, masses of curly blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a tight dress that looked like a weird mix between something a secretary might wear and a Halloween costume. Slutty secretary, maybe. But she smiled at Stiles and said, “Right on time! I like that. C’mon in!”

“Uh,” Stiles said, and she leaned forward, wrapping a warm hand around his wrist, pulling him inside. He wondered how she could move so fast in five-inch heels.

The girl led him into an enormous two-story loft. The front wall was all glass, letting in cool northern light, and was open to the second story ceiling. A balcony ran along the back wall and Stiles could see doors above, presumably to bedrooms. Below, the floor space was open, kitchen, dining, and living spaces all blending into each other. It looked luxurious and impeccably designed, like something out of a magazine. It didn’t really look like anyone lived there; there were no photographs or personal mementos. It seemed kind of cold.

“So,” the girl said, letting go of his wrist. “Welcome! I’m Erica Reyes.”

“I’d guessed,” Stiles said, trying to get some feeling back in his hand. “Stiles Stilinski.”

Erica waved him over to the kitchen and gestured for him to sit in one of the tall barstools tucked against the counter. She stepped behind and said, “You need anything? Something to drink?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Stiles said. He could see a whiteboard on the gleaming aluminum fridge. It still said _I’m not lying, Stiles,_ and he didn’t know why but that helped him relax a little.

“Let me know if that changes,” Erica said, and pushed a small stack of paper toward him. “Now, this is the agreement that I told you about over the phone. It’s the basic non-disclosure agreement that all of our employees sign. By signing, you basically agree to not talk about any products in development you may see or learn of during your time here. We do a lot of contract work for major electronics companies, and they are not happy when their secrets get spilled, so this protects us and you from getting sued. All right?”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded.

“Good.” Erica lifted that paper aside and tapped her finger on the next. “This is the specific agreement between you and Mr. Hale. Basically, Mr. Hale agrees to pay for your remaining semester at school, as well as a monthly stipend of ten thousand dollars for as long as you—” She looked concerned at the choking noise that Stiles had made. “Are you all right?”

“Ten thousand dollars a month?” Stiles gasped.

“For as long as you stay here,” Erica confirmed, looking worried. “Is that not enough? I can call Derek—”

“No,” Stiles said. “I just – I wasn’t expecting that. I thought he was just paying for school.”

Erica grinned. “Mr. Hale knows how to treat his employees well, Mr. Stilinski. Now, there’s no set date for the end of your employment, and you’re free to terminate your contract whenever you wish, but Mr. Hale hopes that you will stay here until you’re finished with school. Again, that’s just a request. There are some ground rules, that Mr. Hale has come up with, though you’re free to argue any point if you disagree. Okay?”

Stiles nodded and Erica continued, “First rule. You’re free to come and go as you like, but you will be here every night by five o’clock unless Mr. Hale is traveling or you have any school-related activities that may make you late. Do you have any evening classes?”

“Just one,” Stiles said. “Tuesdays and Thursdays at five. I get out at seven-thirty.”

Erica scribbled down a note. “I’ll let Mr. Hale know. Second rule. You will be exclusive to Mr. Hale during the period of your employment. That means no web show, no dating. If you think you’re interested in someone else, quit. Mr. Hale wants your undivided attention.”

“Easy enough,” Stiles shrugged. He was twenty-two for twenty-two dateless years and he couldn’t see that changing anytime soon.

“Rule three. Mr. Hale travels a lot. He may ask you to accompany him. You can always say no, but if you agree, Mr. Hale will cover all expensive. That goes for just living here, too,” Erica added. “He’s going to pay for everything.”

“Uh,” said Stiles, his mind whirling. “Okay.”

“That’s basically it,” Erica said, tapping her long fingernails on the paper again. “You can read it over and sign it if you agree. Last stuff – like I said, you’re going to be treated like an actual employee, on the payroll and everything. Your official title, if anyone asks, is ‘executive assistant.’ You’ll have to pay taxes on your salary, but you’re also eligible for all benefits, whatever.” She waved an expressive hand around. “There’s a W-4 for you to fill out, too.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, because that was apparently all his brain could manage.

“So,” Erica said kindly, “what do you think? You still want to do this?”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, sending it standing up in every direction. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess. I mean – is this something he does? Pays poor college students for sex?”

Erica shook her head, something in her face changing. “Speaking as his friend and not an employee,” she said lowly, “he’s lonely. He spends most of his time working and when he’s not working, he’s here, alone. He’s a brilliant businessman, but he doesn’t really know how to deal with people. Socially, I mean. He’s kind of intense, and he’s not good at small talk. I guess he saw something in you that he thought he could relate to.”

“Oh,” Stiles said.

Erica spread her arms in a _what can you do?_ sort of gesture and smiled. “He’s a good person, though. He’ll treat you well. Anyway,” she added, pulling open a drawer, “here’s a set of keys for you. The plastic card is for the elevator, and the key is for the apartment. There’s a doorman outside twenty-four seven, so you don’t have to worry about getting into the building. And here’s my number.” She slid the keys and a business card across the counter to him. “If you ever need anything, call me.”

“Where’s Mr. Hale?” Stiles asked, taking the keys and the card.

“He flew out to Los Angeles for a meeting about an hour ago,” Erica replied. “He’ll be back tomorrow evening. I assume that since you don’t have any bags with you you’re not ready to move in, but I thought it’d be nice if you moved in today so you could get used to the space before he comes back.”

“Oh,” Stiles responded, slightly dazed. He hadn’t expected this to move so quickly. “Yeah, I mean, I can go home and get some stuff packed up. I guess.”

“Let me get you a car,” Erica said, pick up her phone. “I imagine that would be easier than lugging everything on the subway.”

“A little bit,” Stiles admitted. “Thanks.”

“And here’s your check, before I forget,” she added, sliding a piece of paper toward him. “Just fill in the amount you need and please tell me what it was later so I can get the accounts right.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, his mouth going dry. He stared at Derek’s swooping, aggressive-looking signature while Erica called him a car.

Back at his apartment, he stood in the living room in kind of a daze, then called Lydia.

“Hey,” he said, when she picked up, “so I guess I’m moving out?”

“Already?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m signing a contract and everything.”

“Did you get more money out of him?”

Stiles gave a hollow laugh. “He’s giving me ten thousand a month on top of the money for school!”

“Oooh,” Lydia cooed. “You better get me some nice Christmas presents next year.”

Stiles sighed again. “Look, I’ll keep paying for the apartment, unless you want to find another roommate.”

“You don’t have to – my parents will cover it.”

“Can I stay on the lease? I don’t know how long this thing is going to last.”

“Sure.” Lydia sounded a little worried, which was unusual for her. “Are you going to be okay? I hope that, for all the money he’s paying you, he doesn’t have any weird fetishes.”

Stiles sighed a third time. “I don’t know. I guess for ten thousand maybe I can learn to like whatever he’s into.”

“Be careful, Stiles.”

“I will.” He grinned, even though she couldn’t see it. “I’ll leave his address here. If I go missing, you know where to look.”

“Okay.”

“Talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later.”

Stiles hung up and breathed in deeply through his nose. He moved into his room, packing whatever he could think of into his bags. He’d have to come back, probably – he couldn’t fit everything. He didn’t even know how he’d be living at Derek’s – would he have his own room, or was he expected to share Derek’s bed? He assumed the latter.

Outside, the driver obligingly helped him with his bags, and agreed to stop by the bank so Stiles could cash his check. He’d have to go to school tomorrow and write them a check but it was a strange thought that for a little less than twenty-four hours, he’d have twenty-five thousand dollars sitting in his checking account. It was about…twenty-five times more money than he’d ever had in his life.

Erica was still in the apartment when he came in, the doorman helping him carry his bags. “Oh, good!” she said, when they came in. “I wanted to make sure you made it back okay. You want to bring that stuff upstairs?” And she led Stiles and the doorman up a flight of very industrial-looking iron stairs and down the balcony to the room on the end. Stiles stepped inside after her as the doorman set down the bags and retreated.

This was, he assumed, Derek’s room. The bed wasn’t made, which Erica clicked her tongue at, muttering something about the housekeeping. The nightstand held the first touch of life Stiles had seen in the whole place – what looked like a family photo. Beyond the bedroom, which was decorated in somber shades of grey, he could see a door into a massive bathroom and, beside it, a huge walk-in closet.

“I cleared out some space for you in here,” Erica said, walking into the closet and flicking on the light. It was lined with suits. Stiles raised his eyebrows. Did Derek wear anything else? Erica pointed toward the left side of the closet, which was pretty empty. “You can put all your stuff here,” she said. “This rack and these drawers are for you.”

“Cool,” Stiles said. “Thanks.”

Erica turned, casting him a keen look. “You’re feeling overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

“A little?” Stiles admitted, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. “It’s just – it’s not like I’ve done this before. I don’t usually rent myself out to people.”

“Look,” Erica said gently, “Derek’s a good guy. I don’t know why he thought this would be a good idea – no offense – but he won’t hurt you.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “It’s not that really, it’s just weird thinking about. I never thought I’d end up here, you know?”

Erica clicked her tongue. “Don’t think of it like an end,” she said. “It’s not.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, because he could tell that Erica had a temper, and he wasn’t really up for a fight today.

Erica smiled. “I need to get back to the office, but you make yourself at home here. Help yourself to food, booze, whatever. You’ve got my number – text or call if you’ve got any questions.”

“One question,” Stiles said. “When will Derek be back?”

“His flight doesn’t get in until around ten tomorrow night, I think,” Erica replied. “I’ll text you when his plane lands, though, give you a heads up. Don’t let his scowling intimidate you; he’s like a big teddy bear, really.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles said, not encouraged in the slightest.

Erica smiled again and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll be good for him,” she said, heading for the balcony. Stiles listened to her heels clank down the metal stairs and then, faintly, the front door opening and closing. He was left to the silence of Derek’s apartment, thick and a little unnerving.

“Okay,” he said out loud, to make himself feel better. “Okay. You’re here now; might as well make the best of it.”

So Stiles packed his clothes away, listening to music on his phone as he sat in the large closet, folding clothes and shoving them into drawers. There was an extra drawer at the end so he put everything else in his bag in that one, all the loose odds and ends he’d thought it prudent to bring along – books and movies and extra pens and an old photo album with pictures of his mother. He’d brought some of his toys, too, not knowing what Derek liked, and shoved those in there as well. He hung his hoodies from the hangers that Erica had pointed at and they looked too colorful hanging across from Derek’s stark black suits. His extra pair of tennis shoes appeared shoddy and out of place next to Derek’s expensive-looking oxfords. He poked around in Derek’s drawers, but the only interesting thing he found was a truly impressive collection of cufflinks. Some of them looked like they had diamonds in them.

Stiles abandoned the closet to go poking around in the bathroom instead. Flicking on the light, he couldn’t help but moan a little at the sight of the Jacuzzi tub. This place was fucking decadent, and he really couldn’t complain. He was definitely taking a bath later.

Stiles left the bedroom and wandered down the balcony. The next door down opened into a guest bedroom that looked as though it had never been touched, nor had the other bedroom on the floor. They were both sleekly designed and absolutely unfriendly – Stiles could have done a better job on The Sims.

He went down the stairs, the metal cold on his feet, to explore the first floor. The living space was one great open area, but there were rooms against the wall – another big, extravagant bathroom and what looked like an office. He discovered a pantry off the kitchen, stocked with every food imaginable including – Stiles had to grin – caviar, with a note on it from Erica that said _Derek says don’t bother? I guess you have in-jokes already?_ There was a wine cooler, too, and Stiles was ready to guess that the bottles cooling inside were a bit more expensive than the box wine Lydia got when she wanted to get drunk fast. There was a nice collection of booze, too, on the shelf above – fancier stuff than Stiles had ever seen. There was a half empty bottle of Macallan scotch with another note that said _Derek says don’t bother with this either._

Stiles eventually settled down on the couch with his laptop, having first spent five minutes figuring out how the television and sound system worked so he could have some background noise. He spent the evening browsing Reddit, watching Deadliest Catch re-runs, and texting Lydia, who was understandably unimpressed that he’d left dirty dishes behind.

He was weirdly nervous when he went to bed, which was stupid because Derek wasn’t even home, but it felt weird coming into someone else’s life like this, especially when they weren’t there. He stood at the foot of the bed for a while, wondering which side Derek slept on – if he had a side, that was – and eventually decided that it must be the side with the family photo on the nightstand. Stiles picked up the photo. He recognized Derek’s face, though he was much younger, probably a teen. His narrow nose and heavy brows were echoed in the woman standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, and the man next to the woman had the same pale eyes. His parents, then, and the girl next to Derek with an impish grin on her face must be his sister. Derek’s parents were dead – Stiles remembered reading that in his Wikipedia entry, and his uncle had run the company until Derek and his sister were old enough to step in.

Stiles set the photo down carefully and stepped around to the other side of the bed. The mattress was soft and conformed to his body like a glove. The sheet were silky against his skin, cool to the touch. Stiles didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but they smelled like laundry detergent and, faintly, of cologne. It was strange. Stiles had never shared a bed with anyone – well, maybe with Scott when they were younger, and Lydia when she was passed out drunk a few times – but he’d never shared his space with someone who meant anything to him. Not that Derek was going to mean anything, of course. Stiles sighed and played around on his phone for a while before giving up and going to sleep.

-

Stiles awoke late the next morning and lazed in bed for a while. Derek’s mattress was extremely comfortable – probably stuffed with specially bred goose feathers or something extravagant – and he was loathe to get up, especially when he realized that this was his last day of his last winter break ever. He’d never have another month-long holiday of lazing around the apartment, watching stupid dramedies with Lydia and getting high with Jackson. He’d never have another summer vacation, either. This was really his last true vacation – he had a spring break in March, but he’d be too swamped with thesis work to really enjoy it.

Thinking about school reminded him that he had to go and write a check for them, the greedy bastards, and he forced himself out of bed and into Derek’s luxurious shower, which was separate from the bathtub, because why conserve space when you have a net worth of over five hundred million dollars?

Stiles left the apartment, nearly forgetting to bring the keys with him, and headed for Columbia to pay his dues. Ms. Morrell smiled when he came into her office and handed her the check, and she didn’t ask where he’d gotten the money from, which Stiles had been totally ready to declare came from a mentor that no, you definitely wouldn’t recognize his name, don’t worry about it. He went to his old apartment because he had nothing better to do, and hung out with Jackson while Lydia argued with her thesis advisor about something complex and mathematical that his brain tuned out automatically. They got Thai food for dinner, and Stiles only headed back to Derek’s apartment when he realized that it was almost ten and Derek should be coming back soon.

Erica texted him around ten-thirty as he sat curled on the couch, sleepily watching _Duck Dynasty._

_derek delayed in chicago, bad weather in midwest, she wrote. should get in around midnight. dont wait up._

_Okay,_ Stiles texted back, glad he could push their meeting back another few hours. He fell asleep there with the tv still on, curled under a blanket, orange light filtering in from the city outside the windows.

He woke up abruptly sometime later, some noise rousing him and he tensed, momentarily forgetting where he was. For a moment he was back at his dad’s place, hearing him coming home after a long swing shift, the jangling of his keys a familiar noise. But there was a voice talking now, too low to hear, and Stiles frowned, realizing he wasn’t at home. This had to be Derek.

Stiles lifted himself up onto one elbow so he could see over the back of the couch just as someone flicked a light on in the kitchen. Derek stepped into the pool of light, his phone pressed to his ear, and Stiles swallowed, because he was a lot more handsome than he’d looked in all the pictures – and those had been bad enough, all sharp cheekbones and pale eyes and brooding expression. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed Stiles yet even though the tv was on, and he was wondering if he could sink back down and pretend to be asleep when Derek’s pale eyes snapped to him.

They both froze, a series of strange expressions flitting across Derek’s face. Stiles stared back, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. _Say something,_ his brain encouraged but Stiles, usually impossible to shut up, had, for once in his life, nothing to stay. _C’mon!_ his brain urged. Stiles opened his mouth, suddenly dry as the Sahara Desert, and said, “Uh, hey.” Smooth, so smooth. “Uh, I hope it’s okay I’m here? Erica said I should come over.”

"That's fine," Derek said quietly, and his voice wasn't as deep as Stiles had expected. He took his phone away from his ear, ending his call.

"So," Stiles said uncomfortably. "This is a little weird, right?"

Derek snorted. "You can relax," he said. "I'm not going to jump your bones tonight."

"Oh, uh, good?" Stiles replied, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Uh. Are you hungry? I got Pad Thai for dinner tonight - I could heat up some leftovers if you want?"

"I could eat," Derek said, and Stiles took that as a yes. He moved into the kitchen as Derek slid onto one of the stools. Stiles pulled a carton out of the fridge and paused.

"Pans?"

"Under the stove," Derek gestured, resting his head on his chin. He looked tired.

"Thanks." Stiles grabbed a frying pan and dumped in the leftover Pad Thai. "So," he said, waiting for the pan to heat up, "how was your trip?"

"Boring," Derek replied. He seemed to be watching Stiles' hands, and Stiles had to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest and hide his hands in his armpits.

"Do you travel a lot?"

"A couple times a month," Derek said. His eyes moved from Stiles' hands to his face, and Stiles fought to keep his gaze steady. "More lately. My company's trying to expand into new markets."

"Oh. Will you be traveling again soon?"

Derek shrugged his broad shoulders. "Back to London in a couple of weeks, I think."

"That's cool," Stiles said. "Uh, plates?"

"Next to the sink."

"Right." He located a plate and slid the warmed up Pad Thai onto the porcelain. Stiles handed it to Derek, who took it with a quiet "Thanks."

Stiles sat down on the stool next to Derek, watching him eat. "Is it okay?"

Derek nodded, swallowed, and asked, "When does school start for you?"

"Tomorrow," Stiles replied. He glanced over at the clock on the stove and was a little startled to see it was nearly one. "Today," he corrected.

"You should go to bed," Derek said, forking up another mouthful of noodles.

"Yeah," Stiles agreed, but didn't move. "Are you sure you don't want anything tonight?"

"Stiles," Derek said patiently, "I can wait."

"If you're sure," Stiles said, but he still didn't move. He felt weird. There was tension in the air, and he didn’t like it. This was his _job_ , right? He leaned forward slowly, right into Derek's personal space, close enough to feel Derek's breath, warm against his lips. Derek didn't move, didn't try to push him away, so Stiles closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to Derek's. Derek’s lips were soft and warm and they pressed back against Stiles’, drawing him in, deepening the kiss. Stiles lifted a hand, curling his fingers in the soft hair at the back of Derek’s neck, letting his lips part so Derek’s tongue could sweep in, tasting him. Not that he’d had many, but it was probably one of the nicest make-out sessions he’d ever had, easy and unrushed. Eventually, though, Derek pulled back.

“Cut it out,” he said mildly, a faint, pleased smile on his face. “Go get some sleep.”

Stiles stuck out his tongue and headed upstairs. It was strange how he’d been able to break the tension just by kissing Derek, and even stranger how he felt more relaxed now that Derek was actually in the apartment. It had been a weird, tense waiting game, awaiting his arrival, and Stiles was glad it was over.

He slipped out of his jeans and into a loose pair of sweatpants and climbed into bed, pulling his hoodie up because the apartment was kind of cold. He lay there for a while, a little nervous about sleeping with Derek, but fell asleep before the man ever appeared.

-

Stiles awoke late in the night with his hair damp with sweat. Derek was in bed behind him, his long body pressed up against Stiles’ back, leaking heat like a furnace. Stiles sat up sleepily, tearing at his sweatshirt. Next to him, Derek made a discontented noise in his sleep, like he didn’t like Stiles moving. Stiles tossed his hoodie to the floor and sank back against Derek. He wasn’t going to pretend like it wasn’t nice, sleeping with someone else’s warmth pressed up against him. He dropped back into sleep quickly, lulled by the sound of Derek’s slow breathing and gentle rise and fall of his chest against his spine.

-

When Stiles’ phone went off the next morning, Derek was already gone. There was still condensation on the mirror in the bathroom like he’d showered, but when Stiles padded out onto the balcony, he found the apartment silent and empty. He shrugged, figuring Derek had gone to work. He got himself ready for class, made eggs on toast for breakfast, and set off for class at his usual time, only to arrive on campus half an hour early because he hadn’t quite realized just how close Derek’s apartment was to Columbia. With the gleeful realization that that he could sleep in later in the mornings, Stiles went to reward himself with a triple-shot latte before heading to Milbank Hall for his first class of the semester.

As he sat in class waiting for the professor to arrive, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Stiles pulled it out to see a text from Erica.

_derek in great mood this morning, THANK U!!!_

Stiles snorted into his coffee cup and turned his phone off, sliding it back in his pocket as the professor strode in.

Two classes, lunch with Lydia, and a long meeting with his thesis advisor found Stiles back at Derek’s apartment around four that afternoon, lounging on the couch with his laptop on his stomach. On the very expensive-looking coffee table, which seemed to be made from reclaimed barn wood, Stiles’ phone vibrated and when he picked it up, he found a message from his father.

_What do you want for dinner tonight_

Shit, was it Wednesday? He always spent Wednesday evenings hanging out with his dad, but this week it had completely slipped his mind. He didn’t think he could ask Derek if he could go, not this first week when things were still getting settled. He called his dad.

“You figure out what you want?”

Stiles winced. “No, sorry, Dad. I can’t come tonight. I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. He’d only canceled on his dad like three times in the past four years, and he felt awful about it.

“Is everything okay?” his father asked eventually. “This have to do with all those questions you were asking the other day?”

“Stop it with your cop voice,” Stiles sighed. “And yeah. I – I got a new job.”

“Did you?” His father sounded wary. “It’s not going to interfere with school, is it?”

“No, Dad. I’ve got my priorities straight.” Mostly. His dad didn’t know – would _never_ know – about the cam show, and he was never going to find out about this, either.

“So what’s this new job, then?”

Stiles strained to remember what Erica had called it. “Uh, _executive assistant,”_ he said, and then paused again as he tried to remember the name of Derek’s company. “At Hale Industries.”

“Hale?” his dad repeated. “Not Derek Hale?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open. “You know him?”

“In a roundabout sort of way. He and his sister were in a bad wreck a few years back – five, maybe? Six years? That was back when I was on patrol, and my partner and I were first to the scene. Wasn’t a pretty sight.”

“What happened? Was he hurt?” Stiles sat up, looking around the apartment in case Derek had come home; he didn’t want him walking in to find Stiles talking about him. The apartment seemed empty, however, and he laid back down on the couch.

“They were t-boned at an intersection by a drunk driver who ran a red light. Flipped them right over.” His dad sighed. “Derek was hurt – lacerations on his chest, broken ribs, if I recall. His sister, though, Laura, I think her name was…she didn’t make it.”

“Shit,” Stiles said quietly. “You remember all that?”

“It was one of those ones that kind of stuck with me,” his father said quietly.

 _Reminds me of your mom,_ was what Stiles knew he was really saying. Stiles had been in the car the rainy day they’d lost traction on a bridge on the way to visit his grandparents in Baltimore. Just him and his mom, sinking into the water where the Susquehanna River met Chesapeake Bay. It had been so quiet, even with the water rushing in. To this day, Stiles couldn’t go into bodies of water bigger than a bath tub. Riding in cars had taken a lot of getting used to.

“So,” his dad said, over Stiles’ silence. “You can’t come because you’re working?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. “It’s only my second day. I’ll try to come next week, though, and I’ll try to stop by the precinct before then.”

“Don’t worry about it,” his father said easily. “I know you’ve got school to worry about now. I’ll be fine without you for a few weeks until things settle down on your end.”

“And who says _I’ll_ be fine?” Stiles asked, mostly joking and it made his heart swell to hear his dad laugh.

“Don’t you have work to be doing? I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Dad,” Stiles smiled. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” his father echoed, and hung up.

Stiles lounged around for a bit longer, until he started getting hungry, and he wondered when Derek was coming home. Was his job like a regular nine to five day? Erica said he spent a lot of time working. Stiles picked up his phone again and texted her.

_When does Derek leave? Should I make dinner?_

Her reply was almost instantaneous.

_dereks heading out right now. i bet he would <3 dinner ;D_

_What kind of food does he like?_ Stiles texted back. He was no chef, far from it, really, but years of fending for himself while his dad worked nights had left him with some decent kitchen skills. He could make a killer stir-fry, anyway.

 _dereks the least picky eater ever,_ Erica replied. _he loves dessert tho, the big sap (dont tell him i told u)_

Stiles was standing at the stove when Derek came home, a pot of rice simmering while he cooked chicken and vegetables together in a frying pan. He turned as Derek came in, and the executive raised a hand in greeting as he headed upstairs, cutting a handsome figure in a dark suit. Stiles wondered if he could get Derek to fuck him while wearing it; he kind of had a thing for guys in suits. Which, yeah - he was surprised to find himself perfectly okay with the idea of having sex with Derek. It wasn't like he was afraid of sex - he couldn't be, not with the job he'd had before - it just hadn't happened to him yet. Though, he thought, with a glance up at the balcony, that was going to change pretty soon. And if he was going to be having sex, it couldn't be a bad thing that it was with someone as attractive as Derek.

Derek came back down a few minutes later wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt, still looking devastatingly good-looking. He came up behind Stiles, leaning his long body against him, hands slipping around his waist.

"Hey," Stiles said cheerfully, his heart beating a little bit faster at Derek's touch.

"Hey," Derek echoed, his breath hot on Stiles' ear. "You didn't have to cook."

"I was - I was hungry," Stiles explained, distracted by the way Derek was rubbing his nose against his hairline. "I figured I might as well make enough for two."

He felt Derek lift his head, heard him inhale. "What's in the oven?"

"Brownies," Stiles replied smugly. He'd found a box in the pantry. "Someone told me you have a sweet tooth."

"You've been talking to Erica," Derek said, brushing his lips against the back of his neck. He sounded pleased.

Stiles didn't think that this was the way most escorts worked, making dinner and getting cuddled by their clients, but what did he know? His experience in the sex industry had been entirely digital and completely solo. He wasn't going to complain; he just leaned back into Derek's warmth, enjoying the little shivers that ran down his spine as Derek mouthed at his skin.

They had to pull apart eventually as the timer for the brownies went off. Derek pushed away from him, hands squeezing gently at his hips before he stepped around the counter, sliding onto a bar stool. He watched Stiles bend to take the brownies out, eyes following him longingly. Stiles didn't know if Derek wanted him or the brownies more, which was kind of adorable.

"How was work?" Stiles asked, turning the heat off under the rice.

"Dull," Derek replied. "How was school?"

"First day stuff," Stiles replied. "Boring. I got into a fight with my thesis advisor." Fucking Finstock; he was so touchy sometimes. He didn't like the direction Stiles' thesis was headed, and they had gotten into a half-hour long fight about whether he was still following his original outline or not. He sighed, pulling the frying pan off the heat.

"Where do you go to school?"

"I didn't tell you?" Stiles asked. Derek shook his head. "Oh. Columbia." He kind of hated telling people; they always seemed shocked that he'd been able to get into such a good school, which was kind of rude. Stiles knew he acted like a goofball sometimes, but he was smart. Really smart.

"That's a good school," Derek said, and he didn't sound shocked or impressed, which Stiles appreciated. He just said it like it was fact. "Expensive, though."

"Thus, this," Stiles said, gesturing around at himself and Derek's apartment. He scooped rice onto two plates, then split the contents of the frying pan over them. "Where did you go to school?"

"Undergrad at Syracuse, masters at Georgetown," Derek replied.

"What's your masters in?" Stiles carried the plates around the counter, depositing one in front of Derek before pulling himself up onto the other stool.

"International law and business," Derek said, and Stiles whistled quietly.

“Color me impressed,” he said.

Derek shrugged like it was nothing special, though the corners of his mouth turned up a little. They ate dinner in silence and when Stiles stood to collect the dishes, Derek gently pushed him back down, gathering them himself. Stiles contented himself with cutting the brownies while Derek washed the dishes, and when he turned to dig through the freezer, wondering if there was any ice cream, he turned back around to find two brownies missing already and Derek looking guilty.

“Erica won’t buy me sweet stuff,” he muttered. “She says I’ll get fat.”

“Maybe if you ate a pan a night,” Stiles said, reaching around him to snag a brownie before they all disappeared. “But who cares? As long as you’re happy.”

Derek half-smiled at that, leaning in for a lazy kiss that tasted of chocolate before straightening and heading for the couch. “You have any homework?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Nah,” Stiles replied, trailing him with a brownie in hand. He slumped down on the couch next to Derek and ate his dessert, keeping a wary eye on Derek in case he tried to steal it. Derek behaved himself, however, and they watched _A Few Good Men_ leaning against each other, Derek’s hand crossed over Stiles’ thigh. He fell asleep there, head on Derek’s shoulder and only woke up when the credits were rolling. Stiles lifted his head, looking up at Derek and found him watching the television blankly, his eyes half closed.

"Hey," Stiles murmured sleepily, and Derek shifted so he could look down at him.

"Hey," he replied quietly, his hand tightening on Stiles' thigh.

Stiles stretched lazily and leaned into Derek, nuzzling his cheek against Derek's broad shoulder. "Hey," he said again, almost a sigh.

Derek moved suddenly, shifting so he lay vertically on the couch, pulling Stiles along with him. Stiles happily allowed himself to be manhandled into position, enjoying the way his body fit against the warmth of Derek's like a puzzle piece. He pulled himself up onto his elbows so he could look down at Derek. The man's face was blank, relaxed, and he gazed back at Stiles calmly. His hands rested on Stiles' back, one below his shoulder blades, the other dangerously close to his ass. It would be so easy to make the first move here, to bend his head and kiss Derek - so he did, dipping his head and pressing their lips together. Derek responded readily, his hand slipping up to the back of Stiles' neck, pulling him in closer.

They kissed languidly, Stiles sighing against Derek’s cheek as the older man turned his head, pressing his mouth to the pulse point on Stiles’ neck. Stiles hissed when Derek’s teeth scraped against his skin, squirming at the touch, dick starting to harden in his pants.

“Hey,” he panted against Derek’s neck, as Derek slipped a hand down the back of his jeans, squeezing at his ass. Stiles struggled upright and Derek frowned. “Hey,” Stiles said again, grinning. “You want to take this upstairs? Make sure you’re happy with your purchase?”

Derek stared at him blankly for a moment before a smile spread on his face, lazy and predatory. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rough. “Definitely.”

Stiles grinned in return and scrambled off him. He held out his hand to Derek, who took it, fingers curling together firmly. Stiles let his hips sway a little more than usual as he led Derek upstairs, and when he chanced a glance over his shoulder, he was pleased to find Derek staring at his ass hungrily. He grinned; he might not know what he was doing, but he was good at faking it.

In the bedroom, Derek pulled him back before he could reach the bed, catching his mouth in a crushing kiss and clash of tongues. Stiles moaned into Derek’s mouth at the way their hips ground together, the friction of cloth against his dick almost unbearable. Derek’s hands were at his hips, pulling at his shirt, tugging it over his head and he shuddered at the rush of cold air against his pale skin.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered, sliding his hands over every inch of Stiles’ skin. “I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.”

“R-really?” Stiles stuttered, arching into his touch like a cat. If he could purr, he would. He hissed when Derek bent his head, laving at a nipple. “Shit, you—”

“Since the first time I saw you,” Derek breathed into his skin, teeth scraping over the pink nub before his mouth moved to the other side of Stiles’ chest. “Didn’t want anyone else to have you.”

“Well, you got your wish,” Stiles said breathlessly, looping his arms around Derek’s neck. Derek exhaled through his nose noisily and Stiles couldn’t help the startled squeak he made when Derek seized him under the thighs, raking him up around his waist. Stiles’ grip around his neck tightened as Derek stalked forward and tossed him onto the bed. Stiles bounced as Derek crawled on top of him, hands already nimbly unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, jerking them down past his knees. Stiles reached for Derek’s shirt, feeling like the clothing situation was unbalanced, and Derek helpfully lifted his arms so Stiles could pull it off.

Stiles paused as Derek leaned forward again, eyes drinking in the broad swell of muscles on Derek’s upper body. There were scars, though, splitting his pectorals and collarbones in broad patches of white skin, stark against the rest of his tanned body. Stiles ran his fingers along them, breathing in deeply.

“What are these from?” he murmured, belatedly remembering what his father had said about the car crash that had killed Derek’s sister.

“Bad memories,” Derek muttered, bending to lick a path down Stiles’ happy trail. “Later.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, easily distracted by the movement of Derek’s mouth. He moved a hand to Derek’s hair, grip tightening when Derek pulled down his boxers, freeing his dick. Derek made a deep, almost animalistic noise at the sight, his eyes flickering up to meet Stiles’. Stiles shuddered, a ruddy red flush spreading down his cheeks and neck. “Y-you have lube, right?”

Derek nodded, his eyes dark, pupils fully dilated, ringed with only a thin line of hazel. He stretched past Stiles, rooting around in his nightstand, and Stiles took the opportunity to rub his hand against Derek’s crotch, palming his dick through his jeans. Derek groaned, open-mouthed and panting, jerking out of Stiles’ reach. He kneeled back, bottle of lube in hand, and paused. Stiles propped himself up on his elbows and asked, “What?”

“You sure you’re ready?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow and unbuttoning his pants.

Stiles shrugged. “Sure. Virginity’s just a social construct, and it’s not like I’ve never had anything in my ass anyway.” He gave Derek a seductive grin. “Stop tiptoeing around, handsome. This is what I’m here for.”

An unreadable expression flickered across Derek’s face, but he moved forward, ripping open a condom and rolling it on before slicking his fingers with lube. He paused again, and Stiles took pity on him. “You want me to do it?” he asked, waggling his fingers. “I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Stop that,” Derek said, pushing his hands away. He settled onto his knees, pulling Stiles’ legs over his shoulders, and rubbed a slick finger against Stiles’ entrance. Stiles’ eyes closed, back arching at the touch. It felt so different than doing it himself; just knowing that there was someone else touching him, the first person other than him to touch that spot, made his dick jump against his stomach. When Derek slid his finger in slowly, Stiles groaned, hips jerking against his will. Derek had to put his free hand on Stiles’ pelvis to keep him still, spreading him open with first one, then two, then three fingers. The feeling was at once familiar and unfamiliar, the angle Derek’s fingers came in at completely unlike Stiles’ own. He groaned as they brushed against his prostate, toes curling in the sheets. He heard Derek laugh quietly, low in his throat, and then the fingers were gone, leaving Stiles empty and wanting.

“You _better_ be getting ready to fuck me,” he said, and that was probably not what he was supposed to be saying to his employer, but Derek just laughed again. Stiles opened his eyes to watch him straighten, aligning himself with Stiles’ entrance. They both groaned as he pushed inside and it was better, so much better than some silicone dick because Stiles could feel how alive Derek was, hot and pulsing and _fuck._

“Fuck,” he echoed out loud, his pulse roaring in his ears. “Oh my god, I am never going back to dildos.”

Derek mumbled something that sounded sarcastic and bent his head, teeth digging into Stiles’ chest as he began moving, shifting his hips forward and back in rougher and rougher movements. Stiles thumped his head back against the bed, quickly catching onto Derek’s rhythm and meeting his thrusts with the rise of his hips, sending them moaning in tandem. Stiles dug his fingers into Derek’s shoulders, his legs hooked into Derek’s elbows, his dick slapping his stomach with every thrust. He’d been hoping he’d hold out longer – he’d gotten pretty good at delaying his orgasms to make more money – but here, with Derek panting in his ear, muttering curses under his breath, and the feeling of his dick throbbing in his ass, it was much harder to hold it off. He could feel warmth building in his toes, curling up through his thighs, pooling in his hips and then it hit him like a punch to the stomach, hips jerking as he came across their stomachs. Derek hissed when Stiles tightened around him, hips stilling as he found his own orgasm.

Stiles breathed out slowly as Derek gripped the base of the condom and pulled out. He pouted faintly, feeling empty in a way he never had before. Derek climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back a moment later, he tossed Stiles a warm wash cloth, and Stiles used it to clean off his stomach and thighs, then turned and carefully cleaned Derek off as well.

“Thanks,” Derek said quietly, laying down next to him.

“You’re welcome.” Stiles hesitantly ran his fingers down Derek’s dick, along the thick vein that ran to the tip. “Can I blow you next time? I’ve gotten really good at deep-throating.”

“If you want,” Derek said, sounding a little strangled. “I won’t say no.”

Stiles grinned and scooted up against him, flipping onto his stomach. “Was that okay? I – I mean, I’ve obviously never done anything with anyone else, and I don’t want you to regret spending all this money—”

“Shut up,” Derek said lightly. “You were fine.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Good.”

“You were fine,” Derek repeated, turning on his side, pressing himself against Stiles’ body until he was almost on his stomach, one leg slipping between Stiles’. Stiles closed his eyes contentedly, enjoying Derek’s weigh on top of him. _He’s lonely._ Erica’s words echoed in Stiles’ head. Maybe that was why he was so cuddly. Stiles couldn’t complain; he liked all the touching, the constant warmth, the solace of another person’s companionship. It was comforting, and if Derek wanted company, he could provide it.

“Tell me about yourself,” Stiles murmured, letting his eyes settle shut. He reached for Derek’s hand, slipping his fingers through Derek’s, and like he’d predicted, Derek’s hand tightened around his. Seeking comfort, Stiles thought, and smiled into the pillow.

“What do you want to know?” Derek replied, his breath hot against Stiles’ shoulder blades.

“I don’t know,” Stiles sighed. “Tell me about your job. Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then why do you do it?”

Derek hesitated before replying, “I feel…closer to my family when I’m there.”

“My dad told me about your sister,” Stiles said quietly and he felt Derek stiffen. “He said he was the first cop on the scene.”

“I…remember your dad,” Derek replied slowly. “Stilinski, right? He came to visit me a few times in the hospital. Not as a cop, just to make sure I was okay.”

“He’s a good man,” Stiles said, heart swelling with affection for his father. “I’m sorry you lost your sister, though.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. “Me too.”

They fell into silence for a few minutes, then Stiles said, “Okay, now you ask me something.”

“Hmm.” Derek shifted, and Stiles felt his stubble scrape against the back of his neck. “How’d you manage to stay a virgin for so long?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Stiles grinned. “I was a bit weird in high school – wasn’t into dudes then, and no girl would give me a second glance. Then I got to college and I didn’t have time; the double major and work and studying kept me busy. I took school seriously – I had to, when it was costing so much money, and my social life kind of suffered for it. You benefited, though,” he added, squeezing Derek’s hand.

“Stop reminding me,” Derek muttered. “Doubt your ass is ready for round two.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles twisted his head to look into Derek’s eyes, grinning wickedly. “Try me.”

-

It was slightly startling to Stiles how easily they fell into a pattern over the coming days. Derek was nearly always gone when he got up, and he was usually home before Derek, except on Tuesdays and Thursdays when he had his late class, and on Wednesdays when he had dinner with his dad, which Derek had been fine with. Derek always came home around five-thirty which, Erica texted to Stiles, was highly unusual for him. Usually he worked as late as he could, she said. He never used to leave the office earlier than eight. Stiles wasn’t sure what to think of that.

He learned to know what Derek liked, both in and out of the bedroom. Despite what Erica had said about him being the least picky eater in the world, Stiles found that Derek hated mushrooms and pork and most kinds of pasta and all kinds of nuts (he’d looked so _hurt_ the day Stiles put walnuts in the latest batch of brownies). Derek secretly liked trashy reality tv shows; Stiles had stepped quietly onto the balcony one Sunday morning to find him watching re-runs of _Jersey Shore_ , though he was quick to change the channel when Stiles came downstairs. They both liked it when he fucked Stiles on his hands and knees, pressing his face and chest down to the mattress and driving into him until he screamed into the sheets.

Sometimes Derek came home from work and he couldn’t even wait for them to get upstairs; he fucked Stiles over the arm of the couch, and against the wall of windows, and halfway up the iron stairs. Sometimes it was late in the night before they even touched, and Derek let Stiles get pushy and he would lay on his back in bed – _their_  bed – letting Stiles ride him and pin his wrists above his head and tell him when to come. Sometimes Derek came home from work and didn’t want to fuck at all, and they would lay on the couch together in comfortable silence watching tv, or Stiles would sit with Derek’s head in his lap and he would run his fingers through Derek’s hair and they would sit in the semi-darkness in silence until one or both of them fell asleep.

Stiles liked all of these nights and the long lazy weekends that followed. He didn’t like it when Derek traveled; it left the apartment too quiet and Stiles got bored easily. Sometimes, when Derek was half the world away in Dubai or Berlin, Stiles would put on a cam show for him, just like old times, but the sex when Derek came home was always ten times better.

“Don’t fall in love with him,” Lydia said one day as they ate lunch between classes.

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. This is just a job.”

“As long as you remember that,” Lydia said primly.

Stiles usually didn’t have a problem with it though it was hard sometimes, caught up in the middle of things, to not feel anything for Derek – like when they were fucking and Derek murmured things like _you’re fucking beautiful_ , or when they were sitting on the couch and Derek pressed a chase kiss to his temple, or when they slept and Derek kept his arms around Stiles, so tight and secure. He had to keep telling himself that this was just a job; it would end someday, maybe when Stiles found himself a real boyfriend, and that would be that.

By the beginning of March, Stiles felt like he’d been living with Derek forever. The apartment, thanks to Stiles’ scant attention span and tendency to drop stuff wherever he felt like it, actually looked like someone lived in it now. His things had migrated to one of the nightstands – glasses and phone and Adderall and whichever book he was currently reading for his thesis work. He left his shoes scattered untidily by the door, and hoodies draped over the back of the couch, schoolbooks spread over the coffee table.

Derek never interrupted him while he worked on his school work, which kind of made sense, considering he’d paid for it. The only time he’d broken his own self-imposed rule was once when he’d come home from work to find Stiles laying stomach down on the bed with his books in front of him, no shirt on, his legs spread, kicking idly at the air. He’d turned to look at Derek, frozen in the doorway and smiled coyly, knowing Derek had a thing for him in his glasses. The sex that had followed had been _extremely_ enjoyable.

“How’s your thesis going?” Derek asked him one night as they lay in bed with the sheets kicked down near their feet, still sweaty and breathless from their latest sexual escapade.

“Pretty well,” Stiles replied thoughtfully. “Finstock’s still going mad over the direction it’s taking, but he can suck my dick.” He sighed, stretching luxuriously. “I’m looking forward to spring break, though.”

“When’s that?” Derek asked.

“Two weeks from now,” Stiles replied, flipping onto his back and wiggling his toes. “You’re not traveling, are you?”

“Might be,” Derek mused. “You want to come with me?”

“Only if it’s somewhere warm,” Stiles laughed.

“Mm,” Derek murmured. “We’ll see.”

-

Two weeks later, Stiles was sitting at the kitchen counter in the early afternoon, getting the first draft of his thesis ready to hand in when the apartment door opened and Erica whirled in.

“Heyyyy!” she trilled, flopping down on the stool next to him.

“Hey,” Stiles replied easily, not looking up from his papers. Erica was always in and out of the apartment, taking care of this or that, and unlike Derek, she was always happy to interrupt Stiles in his studies. He’d gotten used to working around her. “What’s up?”

“Brought you a present,” she replied, slapping a piece of paper down in front of him. Stiles lifted his head and his eyes widened when he realized there was a plane ticket sitting in front of him.

_“The Dominican Republic?”_

Erica grinned. “You’re going on vacation!”

“Oh!” Stiles vaguely recalled the conversation he’d had with Derek a few weeks back and grinned. “Awesome!”

“Derek says you can only go if you don’t have too much school work,” Erica told him, raising an expectant eyebrow, and Stiles grinned.

“It’s all done,” he replied, patting the pile of papers in front of him. “I’ve just got to go hand this in and then I’m done for the next week.”

“Good,” Erica beamed, sliding back off the stool.

“Leaving already?” Stiles pretended to pout, and Erica smacked him on the arm playfully.

“I’ve got errands to run,” she said cheerfully, heading for the door. “Don’t lose that ticket. I probably won’t see you before you leave, but have fun! Get some sun on that pale skin!”

“Like you’re one to talk!” Stiles hollered after her.

“Make sure you use sunscreen, though!” Erica called back. “Derek doesn’t want to fuck a lobster!”

Stiles turned back to the counter when the door shut, some of the cheer sliding off his face. He picked up the plane ticket, fingers sliding over the letters. This wasn’t a vacation, right? Derek’s company probably had factories in the Dominican, and this was just a business trip. This was definitely not because he’d told Derek he’d only go somewhere warm. It didn’t mean anything. Definitely not.

-

It _was_ a vacation.

On the third morning, after two lazy days of laying in the sun, eating a lot of really good food, and semi-public fucking on the balcony of their suite, Stiles lay in bed with Derek, skin cooling after a round of languid morning sex.

“Um,” he said, unable to resist any longer. He’d been worrying about it since Erica brought him the plane ticket. Derek hadn’t made any mention of business, and Stiles had snooped through his luggage while he was in the shower and found no suits. At the sound of his voice, Derek turned his head to look at him, his face smooth and carefree. Stiles swallowed. “Don’t – don’t you have meetings you need to get to?”

Derek’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Uh,” Stiles said intelligently. “This is – you’re down here on business, right?” Derek’s brow furrowed deeper and Stiles’ heart sank. This was a vacation. “Oh. Oh, I’m stupid. I just thought – well, Erica said you’d bring me on trips sometimes. I thought this was like that.”

Derek sat up, his face growing stonier by the minute. “Do all my trips have to be about business?” he asked sharply.

“No, no,” Stiles said hurriedly. “I just didn’t—”

“You could have said no if you didn’t want to be here,” Derek snapped.

“That’s not—”

“I just wanted to relax for _once,”_ Derek said furiously. “Can’t you keep your fucking mouth shut for one goddam day?”

Stiles dropped his eyes to the mattress, cheeks flushing unhappily. “Can’t suck your dick with my mouth shut,” he muttered, stung.

“Good thing you’ve got somewhere else for me to shove it then,” Derek replied shortly, “or you wouldn’t be of any use to me at all.”

Stiles bit at the inside of his cheek. The remark shouldn’t have hurt – it was the truth, wasn’t it? He was being paid to get fucked by Derek…but it did hurt, the unhappiness swelling inside him like a balloon. He hoped Derek was done talking because too much more and he was going to pop.

Next to him, Derek made an irritated noise and rose from the bed, stalking into the bathroom. When Stiles heard the shower come on, he slipped out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans, then quietly slid open the door to the balcony. He sunk down into one of the deck chairs, misery rising in his mouth like bile. It wasn’t like this had ever been his intention. It wasn’t like it had been an easy decision, to let some internet stranger pay him for sex. It wasn’t like he felt good about it – or at least, he hadn’t felt bad about it, not until today.

This should be a good thing, he told himself. It proved that it didn’t mean anything to Derek, that he just thought of him as a plaything. The vacation had to be coincidental; Derek clearly just wanted a holiday with the option of as much sex as he wanted. Stiles shouldn’t have worried. He could have avoided the horrible wrenching in his stomach if he’d just left the subject alone. He scrubbed his hands over his hair. Fuck.

It had happened, just like Lydia had warned him. Somewhere along the way he’d slipped and started _liking_ Derek. He’d lost the line between professional relationship and _relationship_. Fuck. Stiles groaned out loud. He was so fucking stupid.

Stiles pulled out his phone and texted Lydia, international rates be damned.

_Mayday, mayday, mayday. :(_

His phone rang almost immediately, Lydia's name popping up on the screen. He sighed and answered. "Hey."

"What's going on?" she asked immediately, sounding unusually concerned.

"I'm in trouble," Stiles said, his voice low. He glanced over his shoulder into the room, but the bathroom door was still closed. "I like him, Lyds. I let it happen."

"Did you tell him?"

Stiles laughed shortly, unamused. "No. No way. He's just made it abundantly clear that he's only interested in my body."

"You need to quit," Lydia said. "Right now, before you get hurt."

"Too late," Stiles muttered. "I can't leave - we're in the Dominican Republic."

"Yes you can," Lydia insisted. "Unless you’re in the middle of the jungle, you can go to the airport and buy a ticket home. _I’ll_ buy you a ticket."

"I can afford a ticket," Stiles replied unhappily. "You think that's the best idea?"

"You said you can leave any time you want. Do it now before it gets any worse."

"Okay," Stiles agreed miserably. He twisted around again, just in time to see Derek step out of the room, the door shutting behind him. "He just left."

"Perfect," Lydia said. "Go now, before he gets back. I'll clean your room - you can come back tonight."

"Text you when I get in," Stiles sighed, and hung up.

He didn't leave immediately, though. He hung around in the room for almost an hour, thinking that maybe Derek had only gone to breakfast and would be back soon. He couldn't think of anything worse than Derek coming back in the middle of him packing, or stepping onto the elevator with his bag just as Derek got off. When it became apparent that Derek wasn't coming back any time soon, though, Stiles moved quickly, shoving his shit into his bag and scribbling a quick note, moving fast so he wouldn't have time to stop and question his decisions.

Two hours later, Stiles was on a flight back to New York City.

-

Derek couldn’t understand what had just happened. He stood in the shower for a long time, replaying the scene over and over in his head. He shouldn’t have snapped, but Stiles wasn’t that stupid; there was no way that he could have thought this was a business trip. There was no way he was that dense. Still, he shouldn’t have said that to Stiles. He’d seen the hurt in his eyes after he’d spoken, but Derek was hurt – hurt and angry that Stiles couldn’t see what he thought was so obvious. Derek knew he could be surly and silent, but he didn’t think he’d been _that_ opaque with how he felt.

Derek scratched at the back of his neck uneasily. Maybe it had been a bad idea to bring Stiles on vacation. Erica had warned him against it. She’d been against Stiles since the beginning, cautioning, “You’re going to get yourself hurt. You can’t _love_ a prostitute.” Derek had yelled at her for that, sending her away angry and annoyed, but he was forced to admit that she was right. Stiles was a prostitute, basically, and even though he dolled out affection easily, Derek could tell there wasn’t anything behind it. He could fool himself – pretend that the way Stiles curled their fingers together meant something, that the way he smiled softly when Derek came home meant he was actually glad to see him, that the way Derek woke up with Stiles curled across his body meant he needed to be close. None of it meant anything except that Stiles was doing a duty Derek paid him to. It was all just words and actions, no real emotions.

Trouble was, Derek wanted there to be. He wanted desperately for Stiles to like him, to be with him because he wanted to be, not because he was being paid. The thought of Stiles quitting and leaving Derek alone again in his too-large apartment hurt. He’d just gotten used to having someone around. He’d stopped dreaming about his parents, about sitting in a flipped car and holding Laura’s cold hand in his. He didn’t ever want to go back to that.

When Derek stepped out of the bathroom he panicked in the empty room for a moment until he spotted Stiles sitting out on the deck, his face turned to the sea with his phone to his ear. Derek paused there. He should apologize for what he said, but the unhappiness on Stiles’ face overwhelmed him, so he got dressed and left the room instead. He spent the day on the beach alone. He rented a surfboard and forced himself to go in the water and ride until his muscles were sore.

Stiles refused to go in the water. Derek had learned the day before when he’d tried to tug Stiles into the surf with him and the kid had gone white as a sheet, digging his heels into the sand. Derek had let go of his hand, hadn’t tried to push him. He could guess what was wrong; he’d looked up the Stilinskis as soon as he’d found out Stiles’ last name, and he’d read articles – stories about his father getting shot the previous year, Stiles’ salutatorian speech at his Brooklyn high school, an old article about the car accident in Baltimore and his mother’s death. He’d seen the faint scars on Stiles’ legs and connected them to the story, which spoke of a passing motorist leaping in after the sinking car, breaking a window to pull Stiles out, too slow to save his mother. Just reading the article had hurt, reminding him of Laura.

Derek returned the surfboard when the sun began to set and stood on the beach for a while, looking up at the resort. It cost him nothing to admit to himself that he was scared to go back to the room. He didn’t want to see the look on Stiles’ face – hurt or disgust or nothing at all. He walked into the city instead and ate a slow dinner at a restaurant that accepted American Express and then he found a bar and sat in silence for three drinks, drawing them out as long as he could.

When he finally went back to the resort it was nearing eleven and he hated himself for being such a coward. The room, when he carefully unlocked the door, was dark and silent.

"Stiles?" Derek asked quietly, stomach turning nervously. He stepped over to the bed, but it looked empty. He turned on the light. The bed was empty – the room was empty. Stiles' things were gone. The bed was neatly made and a note sat on the covers. Derek picked it up, his throat gone dry.

_Sick of being used. I quit._  
_Getting my own flight back._

Derek breathed in deeply, fighting back the urge to vomit, his stomach twisting as he reread the note. _Sick of being used._

He picked up his phone and tried calling Stiles. He didn't know what he'd say, but he couldn't just let him go. It didn't matter - his phone went straight to voicemail. Derek made a frustrated noise. He didn't know how long ago Stiles had left. He might be back in New York already. He called Erica instead.

"What's up, boss?" she asked cheerfully.

"Go to my apartment _now,"_ Derek commanded, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear so he could begin cramming clothes back into his bag. "If Stiles shows up, _don’t_ let him leave."

"Okay," Erica agreed. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Derek admitted, pausing to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I got mad at him and he quit."

"And you're going to try and stop him?" Erica sounded doubtful. "Derek, you know—”

"I _know_ you thought this was a terrible idea," Derek snapped. "And maybe you were right, but I don't care. I'm not letting him leave, not like this."

"Okay," Erica sighed, sounding resigned. "I'll head over now. What am I supposed to say to him if he does show up?"

"I don't know," Derek snapped, zipping his bag shut and hoisting it over his arm. "Tell him there's some forms he has to sign. Make something up. You're better at bullshitting than I am."

"Not sure that's a compliment," Erica said. "I'll do my best, though."

"Keep me updated," Derek ordered, and hung up. He got a taxi to the airport and bought the last seat on the next flight to New York. Despite his anxiety, Derek managed to fall asleep. He dreamed of being upside down in the car, holding Laura's hand, listening to her breathing slow and then stop entirely. When he looked over, though, it wasn't Laura in the seat next to him, but Stiles.

Derek woke in a cold sweat, a flight attendant's hand on his shoulder. "We're beginning our descent, sir," she told him kindly. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," Derek muttered, buckling his seat belt and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He turned his phone back on the minute they landed. A series of texts from Erica from over the last four hours.

_just got to ur apt, no sign of him. his things r still here tho_  
_he just came in. looks sad._  
_says hes tired of people not caring_  
_convinced him to take a nap on the couch_  
_i dont think he really wants to leave. dragging his feet packing._

This last message was from ten minutes ago. Derek tried not to get his hopes up. Erica, goddess that she was, had a car waiting for him and the ride back through the city was tense. He texted Erica as they passed through midtown.

_he still there?_

_yes,_ Erica replied almost immediately. _getttting suspicious of all my texting tho. havent told him ur coming back. do u want me to?_

Derek hesitated. He was scared Stiles might run if he knew. _no. i'm almost there. don't let him leave._

The car pulled up in front of the building ten minutes later, and Derek almost fell in his haste to exit, forgetting his bags, his coat. The city was cold; Derek was still wearing his swim shorts, but he didn’t notice the bite of chilly air, just stumbled through the door when the doorman held it open. The slow, gentle ride in the elevator left him breathless, and he had to stop outside the apartment and lean his head against the cool wood of the door to collect himself, breathing in deeply. He could hear voices on the other side, Erica and Stiles.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, and unlocked the door.

Erica sat on one of the kitchen stools, her arms crossed over her chest. Stiles stood closer to the door, a duffle bag over his shoulder and another at his feet. He had been talking, but his mouth snapped shut when Derek stepped through the door.

“Uh uh,” Stiles said, and he sounded angrier than Derek had ever heard him. “Not fair.” He turned to look at Erica. “You traitor.”

Erica hopped off the stool and sidled past him. “Sorry,” she said apologetically. “I work for Derek, not you. And you,” she added, jabbing a finger into Derek’s chest as she headed for the door, “ _you_ owe me big time.” Erica slammed the door behind her, leaving Derek staring at Stiles and Stiles looking everywhere but at Derek.

“Stiles,” Derek began, but Stiles shook his head, cutting through him.

“No. Don’t try to apologize to me or offer me more money to get me to stay or whatever you’re about to do. I’m done. I thought I could handle this, but I can’t. I don’t like feeling like I’m nothing.”

Stiles’ last words hit Derek like a punch to the stomach. “You’re not nothing,” he said fiercely.

Stiles gave him a sardonic look. “Oh yeah?” he asked. “Why don’t you tell me again the only part of me that’s of any use to you?”

“Stiles, I’m _sorry,”_ Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was frustrated, but I didn’t mean what I said. You’re more important to me than that.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles scoffed, picking his bag off up the floor and hoisting it like he was ready to leave. “Should’ve made that a little more obvious.”

“I thought I was,” Derek said quietly and Stiles froze.

“What are you talking about?”

Derek swallowed, about to jump off the cliff. “I want you here,” he said. “But I want you here because you want to be here, not because I’m paying you. I’ve wanted to be with you since the first time I saw you.”

“So why didn’t you say that instead of offering me money to be here?” Stiles asked. He still looked ready to run, but at least he set his bag down again, folding his arms over his chest.

Derek shrugged. “Somehow that sounded even crazier. Would you even have considered it if I hadn’t offered to pay?”

“No,” Stiles admitted. “There were a lot of guys who offered to hook up.”

Derek shrugged again. Stiles watched him for a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “So you want me here,” he finally said, and it wasn’t really a question, but Derek nodded.

“If you want to be,” he confirmed. “I’m never going to say no to you.”

They stared at each other for a while longer, Derek growing increasingly nervous with every second that passed in which Stiles said nothing. He certainly wasn’t expecting the hesitant smile that spread over Stiles’ face.

“I thought I was reading into everything too much,” he confessed. “I didn’t think someone like you would seriously be interested in me.”

Derek snorted, hope rising in his chest. “You’re a much better person than I am,” he replied. “I paid you for sex.”

“And I accepted,” Stiles pointed out. He let his other bag slip off his shoulder and drop to the floor. “I’d say we’re equal.”

“Okay,” Derek agreed, stepping forward hesitantly. Relief rushed through him when Stiles closed the distance himself, stopping just in front of Derek. He looked up into Derek’s face.

“Promise you won’t pay me?”

“Promise,” Derek said softly. Stiles grinned and folded his arms around Derek’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. “You’ll stay?”

“I’ll stay,” Stiles confirmed.

“Thank you, your majesty,” Derek breathed, bending to kiss Stiles, who laughed against his lips.

“Your majesty?”

Derek smiled. “King James?”

“Oh!” Stiles tilted his head back, barking with laughter as he remember his username from the cam site. “Cheeky fucker.”

“Yep,” Derek agreed, stepping back and slipping his hand into Stiles’. “Come on. Let’s go to bed – it’s nearly five o’clock.”

-

When Derek awoke the next morning, the bed next to him was empty and for a miserable moment he wondered if he’d just dreamed everything. As he lay in contemplation, though, his ears picked up the sound of someone moving around downstairs and he relaxed, smiling faintly when he remembered the conversation he’d had with Stiles last night.

Derek pulled himself out of bed and wandered down the iron stairs. Stiles was standing in the kitchen, leaning over a cookbook, but he grinned when he saw Derek.

“Hey,” he said. “Wasn’t sure you’d ever get up again.”

Derek glanced at the clock on the stove; it was nearly two in the afternoon. "Guess that's what happens when you go chasing someone across countries," Derek replied.

Stiles snorted and turned back to the cookbook. "Yeah, sorry about that," he said. "I guess I ruined our vacation."

"You've still got a few days off," Derek pointed out, stepping up behind him and sliding his arms around Stiles' waist. "We won't waste them."

Stiles tilted his head up to grin at him. "No, we won't."

Derek smiled hugely, bending his head to meet Stiles' lips. Stiles made a soft noise and twisted around so they were facing each other, moving back easily as Derek pressed him into the counter, hands grasping at Derek's arms. "I like that look on you," he said when they separated for air.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "What look?"

"That smile," Stiles replied, a soft grin curving his own lips. "You look so serious sometimes."

"I'll try to make more of an effort in the future," Derek said gallantly. Stiles laughed softly and turned his attention to Derek's neck. Derek groaned when Stiles' teeth scraped against his skin. He dug his fingers into Stiles' ass, enjoying the way Stiles' breath hitched at the contact. He slid his hands under Stiles' thighs, lifting him onto the counter in one easy movement. Stiles sighed against him, legs coming up to wrap around Derek's waist.

"Are you going to fuck me right here?" Stiles murmured into Derek's ear, exhaling softly when Derek's hands slid under his shirt, groping at his warm skin. "I promise I'll be noisy."

Derek growled desperately, dick jumping in his boxers, but he said, "No."

Stiles sat back, leaning on his hands so he could raise an eyebrow at Derek. "No?" he echoed. "Then what?"

"We're going to go upstairs," Derek replied, his voice a low rumble, "and you're going to fuck me."

Stiles stared at him, his lips parting, a delicious blush flushing his cheeks. "You're joking."

"I'm not." Derek leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Stiles' slack lips. "Come on."

Stiles almost fell in his haste to get off the counter, Derek catching him by the arm to keep him upright. They took the stairs at not quite a run and fell into the bedroom, ripping at each other's clothes. Stiles shoved Derek down onto the bed and Derek let himself fall, pulling Stiles down with him. He liked it when Stiles got pushy; he was so used to people tiptoeing around him, tripping over their own feet to obey his commands. It was nice to be pushed around once in a while.

Stiles knelt over him, straddling his hips, sucking a bruise into Derek’s collarbone. He hissed quietly, running his hands up Stiles’ thighs, fingertips tracing the jut of his cock. Stiles moaned, raw and needy, bucking his hips into Derek’s touch and Derek smiled to himself, fisting his hand around Stiles’ dick. He pumped him slowly, thumb rubbing over the slit on the head until Stiles slid back suddenly and left Derek’s fingers curled in thin air.

“Don’t,” he gasped, flushing bright red. “Oh my god, _don’t,_ or I’ll never make it inside

“You better hurry up then,” Derek replied, reaching for the lube and condoms on the nightstand, not even needing to look to grab it. He passed them to Stiles, who licked his lips and looked at the bottle of lube like all his dreams had come true. Derek shifted impatiently underneath him, and Stiles blinked, ripping open the condom. He rolled it on, cheeks flushing red again, and slicked his fingers with lube. He shuffled backward, kneeling between Derek’s legs, and the older man groaned through gritted teeth when Stiles bent his head and sucked in his dick.

“Stiles,” Derek hissed, groaning again when Stiles slipped a hand under his hips, rubbing a cool finger against his entrance. He reached out a hand, anchoring himself in Stiles’ hair, fighting back the urge to press his head down. He didn’t need to, though – Stiles could deepthroat like no one he’d ever been with, taking in so deep his nose touched Derek’s stomach, brushing against the dark hair below his navel. Stiles moaned around him, the vibrations shuddering up Derek’s spine, his hips jumping unconsciously.

“Fuck,” Derek growled. Stiles caught his wrist, pulling Derek’s hand out of his hair, sliding it down to his throat so Derek could feel the movement of his dick inside Stiles’ mouth. “And you call me a demon,” he muttered.

Stiles grinned, pulling off him with an obscenely wet noise. He kissed at Derek’s inner thigh, nosing at his balls as he pressed his finger against the tight ring of muscle below. Derek hissed again as Stiles’ finger entered him, a slow and steady pressure. It had been a long time since he’d been on the receiving end; he’d forgotten how strange it felt. He looked down at Stiles, who was staring between his legs, his mouth hanging open in that stupid, endearing way it always did. He curled his finger experimentally and Derek swore, his hips rising off the mattress. Stiles shoved him back into place, a grin spreading across his face. He carefully added another finger, sliding them in and out of Derek, curling and uncurling under Derek panted under his touch. He knocked his knee against Stiles, who glanced up at him. _“Now,”_ he snapped.

“Cool your jets,” Stiles replied casually. He pulled his fingers out of Derek, grinning. “How do you want to do it?”

Derek propped himself up on his elbows and hesitated before flipping over, pulling himself onto his hands and knees. Stiles put his hands on Derek’s hips, then Derek heard him start snorting with laughter.

“What?” Derek asked self-consciously. He felt incredibly exposed like this.

“You’ve got a big patch of sunburn on your back,” Stiles explained. “Didn’t you put sunscreen on yesterday?”

“Couldn’t reach everywhere,” Derek muttered, resting his forehead against his arm.

“Baby,” Stiles cooed and Derek felt him shift, pressing up against him to lean over his back and kiss a spot on his spine that flared with heat and a little pain. He sucked in air between his teeth, feeling the hard length of Stiles’ dick pressed up against his ass with the movement.

“Stiles,” Derek said through his teeth. _“Now.”_

“Pushy pushy,” Stiles replied, his hands drifting back to Derek’s hips. Derek felt the blunt pressure as he began to press himself inside and it was all he could do to keep himself from shoving backward. “Ohhh,” Stiles moaned softly. “Oh, fuck, Derek. I’m not – I’m not going to last long like this, sorry.”

“Me either,” Derek muttered, sinking his teeth into his arm. It felt so fucking good to have Stiles inside him, arms around his waist, thigh pressed together. He felt safe like this, well cared for.

Stiles pulled out slowly but before Derek could protest the loss he was back, pushing in slowly, over and over. Derek’s thighs were trembling before Stiles started moving in earnest, fucking into him hard and slow, their thighs slapping together with every thrust. Derek breathed out shakily, dropping onto his elbows so he could press his forehead to the mattress. He listened to Stiles muttering “Holy shit, holy _shit,”_ and reached a hand underneath himself, aching for release.

“Hey, whoa, no way,” Stiles said, knocking Derek’s hand out of the way. He curled his long fingers around Derek instead and began jerking him off steadily. Stiles shifted, draping himself against Derek’s back, his other arm looped under Derek’s shoulder, hips pumping against him frantically. The change in position brought his dick brushing against Derek’s prostate with every thrust and Derek let out a moan that was nearly a sob.

“Fuck,” he told the mattress. “Fuck, Stiles, I’m—“

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed against his shoulder. “I’m right with you. C’mon.” He sunk his teeth into the back of Derek’s shoulder and then he was coming in messy spurts over Stiles' fingers and the sheets beneath them, a quiet, helpless noise escaping his throat. Stiles whimpered against his skin, hips stuttering with a few last desperate thrusts. They stilled for a few long moments, a warm, golden heat pulsing in Derek’s body. He let his knees unfold, collapsing to the bed with Stiles on top of him.

“Can we – can we stay like this forever?” Stiles asked, breath tickling the short hairs at the back of Derek’s neck. He squirmed, slipping his arms under Derek’s broad shoulders and crossing his hands over Derek’s heart. Derek folded his arms under his head. He liked the weight of Stiles on top of him, his dick softening inside of him. Stiles felt like home.

“Of course, my king,” Derek murmured.

He could feel Stiles grinning against his shoulder blade and made a mental note: _thank Erica for showing me those gay porn sites._

**Author's Note:**

> Rich people, eh?
> 
> Join me on [tumblr](http://grimm-times.tumblr.com)! Seriously, ask me questions and stuff! I'd like to get to know more people in the fandom!


End file.
